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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943163">Street Dogs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevu/pseuds/vandevu'>vandevu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work, Unleashed (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe - Future, F/F, F/M, Fights, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Light Angst, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Trauma, What even is this????, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:16:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>112,624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevu/pseuds/vandevu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the world no longer remembers the promises you've made? What is honor when no one living knows of the bonds you bear? Has seen the cords you tied yourself up in? What is the price of loyalty, and can the dead still charge the living? Amara wasn't sure...had never really been sure. All she knew was that her neck had forgotten the feeling of freedom long ago.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One: What runs below the surface?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I have no idea what this is? I took the general premise of a collared fighter from Unleashed and ran with it. It's my first time, so please be gentle. I think it gets better after the first chapter, but we all gotta start somewhere right? Anyway.... welcome to the shit show!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Detective Shaun Banner’s feet hit the ground under the fire escape with a muddy splash. The alley he now ran down ran between two buildings that he didn’t know. Nor did he know the part of town, the time of day, or even who the hell he was chasing. All he knew was that it was raining. And rain meant the hounds wouldn’t be able to pick up her trail, so he had to keep up with the strange women now darting through the haze in front of him. And damn, was she fast.</p><p>She rounded a corner and Shaun pushed himself harder. His cheap leather shoes slapped agents the wet pavement at an annoyingly audible level and his ragged breath rattled in ears. He knew that she knew that he was following her, and that he was losing ground fast.</p><p>She led him through a maze of lanes and backstreets, ducking and weaving through passages he hadn’t even known existed in the city of Trinity. It went on for what felt like hours as the rain fell harder. Small pieces of hail were now pelting the detective’s suit jacket as he strained to see more than a few feet in front of his face. The shadowy figure in front of him kept disappearing into the storm, only to reappear again seconds later to taunt him forward. Finally, after what must have been miles, he found himself violently exuded onto a main road, almost getting hit by someone’s Porsche in the process. Headlights and an irate horn resounded from the disappearing vehicle as he bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart.</p><p>Thunder boomed not far off in the distance and Shaun, now completely soaked, pulled himself up right. He looked around for his mark, using his full six feet of height to look over the crowd of people trying to get off the street and into some kind of shelter from the rain, but the small woman was nowhere in sight. She had vanished like the smoke of his breath in the cold air.</p><p>“Shit!” he yelled, not caring who heard him. His cover was already blown all to hell and this had probably been his last chance to shut down Ring 3. Two months he had been undercover on this case, and all he had to show for it was a blown cover, a wet suit, and a failed bust. He had told brass the Saturday meetings were just a formality; a cover-up for the real fights happening during the week. But despite his pleas Corporal had still brought down half the damn Army on his head about an hour ago with nothing in the building but low-level organizers, a hand full of new dogs, and a few filches. It was a disaster.</p><p>“Damn it” he hissed, running a hand through his dusky brown hair and wishing he could bore holes into the chipped concrete below his feet with his eyes alone.</p><p>He was contemplating his predicament, and how long of a walk back it was going to be, when distantly he heard a faint whine come from behind him. Distractedly, and still mentally trying not to put his fist into a wall, he turned towards the sound with a huff. Peeking out of a pile of crates it was using as refuge from the worst of the rain, was a medium-sized brown dog.</p><p>It was an unassuming thing; narrow in the face with speckled, flopped over ears. Its eyes were wide and brown. The same chocolate color as its face and flanks, interrupted by dirt tinged patched of white that spoke of some kind of shepherd or collie. At his recognition the dog perked its ears, tilted its head, and wagged its tail slightly, its dark eyes staring up at him questioningly.</p><p>Shaun hesitated, not wanting to pet a stray. Getting a rabies shot was an activity he did not want to add on to the glorious day he was already having, and in this part of town anything could be running around. The dog seemed to notice this hesitation, and wagged its tailed harder as if in encouragement. Obviously desperate for attention, it squirmed out of the crates to sit obediently in the center of the mouth of the alley and cocked its head at him again. This movement revealed a black collar around its neck that the detective hadn’t noticed before. <em>It must be somebody’s pet,</em> he thought to himself.</p><p>He approached the creature cautiously, hand extended for it to sniff. The dog did so and when it licked his hand Shaun began to scratch it behind the ears. “She got away from me boy.” he told the dog as he scratched, and it responded by panting and pushing its head into his hand.</p><p>Though the collar attested to an owner, the detective couldn’t help but think that the animal had seen better days. Its fur was ragged in places and there was an oily texture to it that spoke of too many days out in the elements. Shaun scratched lower on the dog’s neck and knelt down so he was more level with it. He didn’t care about the muck of the alley getting on his suit anymore. As it was shaping up, that was going to be the least of his problems. There was something oddly familiar about the dog’s collar. He took a better look at it now that he was closer. It was a simple thing; black leather with a sturdy silver buckle. Two rows of round silver studs ran laterally around the collar, about half an inch from either edge. He was trying to place it in his mind when he heard a squawk from his holo-rad.</p><p>He stood, retrieved the device from his pocket, and held it up. The holo beeped again, then the head and torso of Detective Banner’s partner, Marina O’Neil, appeared in a bluish-green light a few inches above the top of the radio. The image was fuzzy in the dissipating rain.</p><p>“Banner! Did you get her?” she asked hastily.</p><p>O’Neil had been riding on this bust almost as heavily as her partner had. She might not have been a UC, but she was a damn fine detective that had put her reputation on Banner’s word as an informant. And as it was going now, this godforsaken day was turning out to be just as much her shit show as Banner’s.</p><p>“No.” Shaun replied flatly and resisted the urge to spit.</p><p>O’Neil sighed and shook her head at his dejected tone. “Well, shit Banner… Fucking hell this was a goat fuck.”</p><p>Shaun had to agree.</p><p>“Anyway, Corporal wants you back here…now.” She continued after a sigh. “He wants a debrief.”</p><p>“How many did we get?” Banner asked quickly. It didn’t sound good, but if they’d managed to snag enough people….</p><p>“Not many,” his partner replied, crushing his fledgling hope. “I think four total.”</p><p>“God damn it!” Banner swore in annoyance. This was a catastrophe. No one of significance had been there today. The few ‘Dogs’—what they called the fighters in the rings—that had been in attendance were sparkling new. None of them had been in the game for more than a few months and none were regular betting stock. They’d all been fighters that still needed to go to the weekly meetings, and therefore green enough to barely be worth questioning. It had been rumored that an old Dog was supposedly going to attend today, but Banner hadn’t had a chance to spot them before the FED had sent in SWAT and all hell had broken loose.</p><p>Not a single owner or organizer arrested, and now Banner would never be able to infiltrate again. By now his name and face were probably flying through the communication channels and he’d be lucky if he could ever show his face in Midtown again.</p><p>“I know.” O’Neil half moaned in understanding. Shaun sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced down at the dog, which surprisingly had stuck around. It was looking at the holo, head cocked to the side quizzically, and its tail wagged back and forth as if it were happy about something. “Fine,” Shaun finally said, resigning himself to the ass chewing he was about to get. “I’ll be there as soon as I figure out where the hell I am.”</p><p>“10-4” O’Neil replied, and her image faded out. Shaun started to plug in his last known coordinates to the holo’s GPS. A map of the city popped up, and a blinking red light appeared where he now stood. All three towns of Trinity were highlighted, but he really only needed the one. Flabbergasted, Banner realized that the Ring 3 warehouse wasn’t far away from where he now stood down the main street. Only a few blocks, really.</p><p><em>That woman led me on a wild goose chase for nearly an hour!</em> The detective thought to himself with amazement and frustration. He would have bet money that they had at least crossed into Downtown, with all the ground they had covered. The fighter obviously knew the city well. He looked down at the ragged-looking mutt again, and gave it a farewell pat on the head. “I’ve gotta go boy. There’s a lecture waiting on me back at base, and I’ve got to figure out what I can salvage from this shit show. And you need to get home. I’m sure someone is worried about you.” Turning away the detective hunched his shoulders against the chilling wind and doggedly started his sour footed march back to the warehouse. If he was lucky he’d still get to keep his job, and if he wasn’t…Well somebody had to pick up trash on the side of the road right?</p><p><em>At least the rain is slowing up,</em> he thought, looking up at the still grey sky. Off in the distance, sirens faded off into the fog.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two: A mutt by any other name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Use of the R slur by one of the characters. I wouldn't use this term, except that I think it highlights just how deplorable this character is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If anyone had been watching at that moment, they would have notice Banner’s canine friend exhibiting some strange behaviors after that. As it watched the detective walk away the corners of its mouth lifted and its tongue lulled out to the side in a toothy grin. It raised its head up and its sides shook up and down, while a low huffing sound reverberated from the back of its throat.</p><p>Anyone would have laughed if they had known what the good Detective was really doing. Five miles he had chased her, over rooftops and through buildings, and now he was just walking away. Amaranda, or rather the dog that was Amaranda, almost felt sorry for him.</p><p>Almost, but he was still a cop. They thought they knew everything about justice and truth. Thought that that just because they wore the badge and played by the rules that they somehow knew what was right. In reality, they were just as fucking clueless as everyone else. She had to give them their props though. Especially Banner, the man was determined and seemed to honestly believe that he was doing the right thing. Despite the innate deception of his job as a UC, there was little to no artifice to the man, and the lack of power trip behind his actions was refreshing. As his back finally faded from her view, something told Amara this was not the last time she would encounter the Detective. </p><p>She stood and shook the water from her coat. The rain had finally stopped. It was as good a time as any to start heading back, but back to where she didn’t know. Not the warehouse for sure. That place would be crawling with police for the next month. Carlos would have to come up with a new location for Ring 3 and do some major ass-kissing to make up for this breach in security. He wouldn’t be too happy about it, but the owners would pay him well and hopefully he’d make it out of this with his hide still intact. That was his job after all.</p><p>She was relieved beyond words that only four people had gotten nabbed…as far as she knew. She hoped to Katuwa it wasn’t any of the other dogs, but had a sinking suspicion that at least one of them was. One of the newbies had gone down hard under a tranq dart just before she’d left the building, and she didn’t hold out much hope that the filches had taken it upon themselves to save him.</p><p>It honestly surprised her that so few had gotten caught. The SWAT team had descended on them so rapidly, like a swarm of self-righteous bees, she was amazed that anyone had made it out of the building, let alone out and off scot free. Normally they were always a few steps ahead of the FED, but this time had been different. She hadn’t even sniffed out Banner until a few days before the bust. Amara was normally better at finding undercover agents. Banner was good, that was for sure.</p><p>Everyone at the ring had handled it beautifully though. Like they had choreographed and rehearsed it, though nothing of the sort had ever occurred. They were fucking lucky, though, that none of the owners had been there. Usually they didn’t attend the weekend meetings, but every once in a while one would decide to grace them with their presence. Having to sneak a terrified Noble out the back window while dodging bullets could really slow you down; she knew from experience.</p><p>After the windows had shattered and ropes carrying grey-clad SWAT had dropped through the new holes in the ceiling, things had moved pretty fast. Amara had grabbed the filch girl she had been talking to by the arm and had thrown her toward a door. “Move!” she’d yelled, and broke into a run for the back tunnel.</p><p>Everyone else had scattered. Amara dodged a few descending SWAT, saw that the back tunnel was a lost cause, and ducked under an errant tranquilizer dart. She’d ran into a custodian’s closet and crawled out a back panel that had been left loose for just this reason, and dropped onto the roof of the building below. That was where Banner had taken up his chase. It had been a fun game of cat and mouse, but a costly one, and Amara needed to figure out what her next step was.</p><p>Doing some mental math, Amara figured her owner’s garage was a good enough place to go. She’d have to take the roundabout way to avoid most of the FED, but the sooner she got back under guard the better, and the garage was closer than the office or penthouse. When her owner or Kane showed up she could figure out what the fuck was going on with the ring and what was going to happen with this week’s fight. There was no way in hell it would be canceled, but the roster would definitely be rotated. Ring 1 or 4 would have to pick up the slack, and her name would still probably come up…but a girl could dream right?</p><p>Amara exited the alley and headed toward the center of Trinity. She was on the south side, in one of the rougher neighborhoods that was closer to Midtown than Up. Apparently back in the day they had called it ‘The Bronx’, but she hadn’t a clue why. Personally she thought it was a stupid name. No one would pay attention to an unleashed dog here though, and that was good enough for her. When she got closer to the business district she would have to shift back though. Strays were a dwindling occurrence, even in large cities-states like Trinity. It made Amara smile to think how far they had come in five years. It would have made David proud too, to see their sacrifice finally paying off. Or at least, she hoped he would be proud.</p><p>People were starting to come out of their holes now that the rain had stopped, and the streets rapidly filled with people going about their business. Amara weaved in between legs and carts, purposely making her movements clumsy and non-threatening. She let her tongue lull out the side of her mouth and wagged her tail at any pedestrian who happened to look her way. Normal people didn’t usually pick up on animal body language, but instinctually they’d register that something was ‘wrong’ about her if she didn’t act the part. Animals that acted strangely drew attention, and that was the last thing she needed. <strong><em>Just a dog, nothing suspicious here! </em></strong>She thought to herself as she plodded along, laughing internally at the double entendre.</p><p>She wasn’t <em>actually</em> a dog, at least, not the canid kind. She was still Amara, the sire of Midtown’s fighter that was, more than likely, completely human…just cloaked in a slightly furrier skin.</p><p>In all honesty, the fighter herself didn’t even know how it worked. She could still feel the wet cling of her cargo pant to her thighs and the fresh bruises that littered her skin from her harried race with Banner… But she could also feel the tail at the base of her spine. She could smell the rain in the air more clearly than was strictly humanly possible, and her wet fur weighed her down with just as much reality as her wet clothes had done before she changed skins. If it wasn’t so instinctual the fighter was sure she probably would have gone crazy years ago.</p><p>It was like layers of consciousness. Deep inside she was Amara, the short, pale girl from the south who was a ‘Dog’, a fighter in the underground pits of Trinity. That was her center, the core of her being and shape that she didn’t have to focus on to maintain. It was her bedrock, her cornerstone. Who she was at the very basis of her actuality. Outside of that, she was her body. She was a humanoid brain, muscle, and bone surrounded by wet fabric and wrapped in the solidity of her form. And finally, on the outside where everyone could see, she was the brown and white speckled collie mix that was currently working its way down Main Street. An unassuming mutt that people looked at and either thought ‘<em>cute!’</em> or <em>‘ew!’</em>.</p><p>She <em>was</em> the dog, but she wasn’t. If she lost her inner focus, even for a moment, she’d find herself sprawled on all fours in the middle of the road, naked as a jaybird and very, very human.</p><p>Though some pieces of her core slipped through, such as the sorry state of the collie’s fur, the layers were completely separated in her mind, and could be shucked off or slipped on just as easily as putting on a new shirt. Well…if putting on a new shirt took up the same amount of energy as running a half marathon. It took a lot of mental energy to make the world see you as something other than what you were, and the fighter felt that strain acutely as she padded along the street.</p><p>Her mother had once called it ‘shifted perception’. Like if she could hold her consciousness as a ‘dog’ then the world would see a dog. If she <em>was</em> the collie, then she would <em>be</em> the collie. All she had to do was draw upon the earth, draw upon Katuwa and she would be what she would be. But Amara wasn’t that poetic. Thinking about it too much always gave her a headache and put her into ‘existential crisis’ mode, so she’d learned to just accept that she was a freak.</p><p>By traditional standards at least, to her people, it was perfectly natural. A good 20% of the women in her clan had had the gift, and it was considered a talent. Like having a pleasant singing voice or a good eye for weaving, being able to call the skin change was something to be proud of. In fact, she hadn’t realized it was weird until someone had told her so later in life. Funny, isn’t it, how things we accept with such ease about ourselves and the world around us when we’re children, somehow become strange or unacceptable based on what we’re told? A lot of people had an affinity for killing the innocence within by subjecting children to their own world views. An idiotic tradition that leads to generations of people thinking the same exhausting bullshit year after year. Her father had always said that, ‘<em>Clay takes on the fingerprints of those who mold it</em>’, and Amara had found that to be sadly true.             </p><p>It didn’t matter now anyway. They were dead and their words of advice wouldn’t help her get back any faster.</p><p>She kept making her way down the street, quietly admiring the neighborhood for its individuality.  In this area old architecture was mixed in with the new. The red brick buildings of the past gave a good contrast to the sleek mirrored panels and iron siding of the new ones. The road was even still separated off into concrete sidewalks and an asphalt road, as it had been before the hovercar was invented. Most streets were either dirt or cobbled now. The need for pavement had gone out with the earthbound car, and there were better things for the government to spend money on these days anyway. Everyone walked, unless they rode the monorail, which rattled on its track above her head as if to recognize her notice. The big hulking thing was noisy as hell, but it got people from point A to B. No one paid heed to the curbs though. From wall to wall people walk in whatever direction they needed to go in. The faded yellow and white lines were all but erased from view due to the thousands of feet that matched across them every day.</p><p>Amara caught herself thinking about how different the city was from the mountains she’d grown up in. This barely controlled chaos was nothing like the quiet trails to and from the market she remembered. She shook her head to rid her mind of the thought and chastised herself for it. She knew that thinking of home could only bring pain, and she was in for enough of that today without adding to her own plate.</p><p>Every once in a while, as Amara made her way toward the middle of Trinity, someone would yell “Car!” and the street would clear. Usually not long after that a hovercar, normally of some grotesquely expensive make and model, would fly past hovering at about shoulder height. The air they produced as exhaust disturbed hair and clothing for a moment and then all was forgotten. Of all the things to survive the war and continue to profit in the new age, luxury car dealers had, surprisingly, been the most prominent. Why people still felt the need to drive in a city that had both a monorail and clear airspace for shuttles, Amara would never know.</p><p>This didn’t happen that often though; only people in Noble class one or above could afford a car these days, and the ones they did own were driven fast through a place like this. And perhaps that’s why they still drove. Because they were Nobles, and they could.</p><p>Of course, there was always the random ambulance, fire rig, or police cruiser to contend with, but even those were dying out. Shuttles were becoming so popular it was a wonder Nobles weren’t blasting through the skies right alongside the FED cruisers. </p><p>Amara found herself in one of these situations after she’d gone about ten blocks past Luna’s bakery. She whined as the high pitched keening of the air turbines grated agents her sensitive ears. She hated being around a running car engine as a dog, or anything else that had advanced hearing for that matter. The sound they put off was like that of a thousand screaming children and talons on a chalkboard all mixed together. She winced and started making her way to the sidewalk just as the call of “Car!” echoed down the street. Amara squeezed herself in between a woman carrying groceries and a roasted peanut vendor. She was glad she had chosen a small collie mix instead of a larger dog breed to slip into. This shape was harder to hold, and her frame always felt a little squished, but it was much easier to move around. The keening got louder and a Lamborghini came into view. It sped past in a cherry red blur and Amara sneezed at the wet slosh it sent up.</p><p>Upon a second glance, she recognized the noble driving and her lips pulled back over her teeth in distastes. A growl rumbled through her chest at the sight of Fredrick Plath and the fighter had to resist the urge to spit out of a mouth that wasn’t designed for such things.</p><p>Plath was as disgusting in appearance as he was in attitude. He reminded the southerner of an obese rat; fat with beady yellow eyes curtsey of his self-pickled liver. His head was pear-shaped with a sparse come-over of thin graying hair that did little to disguise the shine of his scalp. His chubby bottom lip was exceedingly disproportional to his thin upper one, and his arms were too short for his round belly.  Of all the arrogant and corrupt Nobles Amara had the unfortunate pleasure of interacting with, he was one of the worst. Plath had his stubby fingers in everything from money laundering and bribery to illegal arms sales and forced prostitution. And unlike other nobles, who were just dirty, he relished in this sick depravity and enjoyed causing such misery. He was scum in every interpretation of the word, just like most of the other high bread ass wipes. </p><p><strong><em>Noble gadaha,</em></strong> Amara thought with malice. She tried not to hate them, really she did. Hell, she was owned by one, so it was a little hypocritical of her. They were just people under all the pomp and circumstance, and they were flawed. And in reality, not all of them were bad.</p><p>But <em>fuck</em> it was hard to remember that most days. They were by in large lazy, conceded, and corrupt at a minimum. Past that they got downright maniacal. They stuck their upturned noses into everything, usually screwing regular people in the process and making things way more complicated than they needed to be. The saying was that ‘<em>Once a Noble gets involved you better start breathing through your mouth. Because even if they shit gold, you’re your still gonna be swimming in shit’</em>.</p><p>A scream pulled Amara back to reality. Her head whipped around and, to her horror, she saw a woman running into the street. The woman was running toward a little boy, who stood stock still holding a ball in the middle of the road.</p><p>Contrary to pop culture humor and cartoons, one could not simply sit under a hovercar as it flew overhead and be completely fine. The down blast from the air turbines had to be strong enough to lift tons of fiberglass and steel into the air against the force of gravity, and it could crush a full-grown man without the driver even noticing a bump in the ride. And now, both of them were right in Plath’s path.</p><p>The woman reached her son and wrapped him in her arms. A moment of relief lit her face before she seemed to remember where she was. Her eyes grew large as she stared at the non-slowing vehicle that meant death for her and her child.</p><p>Amara's body was moving down the road before she had time to think about it. She ran, frantically barking at the Lambo, trying to keep her shape focused and to alert Plath to the fact that he was about to kill two people. She reached the pair and threw herself in front of them, barking her head off the whole time. Just as she was convinced he wouldn't stop and that she was about to join the boy and his mother in the afterlife, Plath looked up and slammed on his breaks. </p><p>The Lamborghini came to a screeching halt a mere two feet in front of Amara's front paws, the back thrusters roaring at the abrupt deceleration. The deadly downdraft whipped through the chocolate brown fur of her chest.</p><p>Amara’s took a deep breath of relief and let it out in a puff, refocusing her center and trying to calm her racing pulse. Her muscles immediately tensed again, though, when the driver side window rolled down and Plath hung his pudgy head and arm outside the car. He flailed his arm and yelled profanities at the kid and his mother for being in his way. Amara was almost impressed by the sheer audacity of his rant.</p><p>“What the hell is wrong with you, you flea-bitten peasant bitch!?! You could have fucked up my alignment! Can’t you control your own retarded snot-nosed brat!? I should have you both arrested for this! And you can take that fucking loud ass dog and—” When his meaty hand pointed at Amara a snarl ripped through her throat. Plath started at the deadly sound and looked down at what he only thought was a dog in fear.  She barred her teeth, knowing that even though she was small, her sharp canines were still intimidating. <em>Now</em> she was wishing for the bigger dog. Amara knew for a fact that Plath was afraid of pit bulls. She felt her frame push against the skin of the dog violently, but she shoved her humanity back down. Now was not the time.</p><p>She glared into the Noble's beady eyes, staring him down as she growled at him steadily. She didn't stop until she saw the little boy and his mother scramble off the road in her peripheral. Amara barked twice in warning, and then she walked slowly out of his way. As soon as she was clear Plath pealed down the street as fast as he could. Amara watched the Lamborghini vanish and snorted in disdain, trying to clear her nose of the smell of Plath and his blasted car. Her eyes narrowed and she cursed the man internally in her mother tongue. She also did something she almost never did, and hoped that she got to fight this week. As long as the opponent was Plath’s dog, just so she could stare into his portly face as she drew blood. </p><p>Amara turned and froze. Every eye on the street was trained on her. <strong><em>Ohhhhhhh balls</em>.</strong> She thought worriedly<em>. <strong>So much for not getting any notice</strong></em>.</p><p>The looks were a mixture of admiration, curiosity, wonder, and fear. She shook out her fur, nervous under the stares of so many people, and the fighter cursed her foolish courage. She looked down to see that the boy and his mother were still crouched on the ground from their mad dash off the road. The little boy looked up at her with a dirt rimed face and innocent blue eyes. The ball that had almost cost him his life was still clutched in his tinny hands. <strong><em>Well, maybe it wasn’t completely foolish. </em></strong></p><p>Amara approached cautiously, not wanting to frighten him any more than he already was. The boy turned his head to the side slightly and stared up at her quizzically. Suddenly he broke out in a wide grin, let the ball drop from his grasp, and buried his hands in the fur around her neck with a high pitched laugh.</p><p>“Goo doggie!” he babbled.</p><p>Amara jerked back at first on reflex; then began to wag her tail when the boy started to tug at her fur and giggle.</p><p>“Parker, carful!” his mother said tensely, reaching out to pull him out of Amara’s reach. She didn’t want the woman to think that she was a danger to either of them, so Amara lowered herself to the ground and rolled over on her back, belly exposed in a submissive posture even a human could recognize.  Parker’s mother hesitated for a moment, then she rubbed the chocolate brown dog’s belly. With that seal of approval Amara panted, wagged her tail, and rolled back over. She was never comfortable exposing her stomached like that, even if she was only around pedestrians. Parker immediately started patting and tugging on the hair around her shoulders; giggling the whole time.</p><p> “Mama, doggie make mean man go away!” Parker squealed. His mother nodded, pale-faced still from fear. Faintly, she replied, “Yes she did honey.”</p><p>She placed a hand on Amara’s head and looked deeply down into the dog's dark eyes. She knew; somehow, that this dog was more than just some stray. It had protected her and her son, and she hadn’t a clue why. “Thank you.” She said intensely. Amara stared back into the woman’s strained blue eyes; the same blue as her son’s. She wasn’t an old woman by any stretch of the imagination, but the stress of life had left its mark in her sunken cheeks. Straw-colored hair rimmed a face that knew far too many hardships for its age and Amara felt her compassion stir<em>. <strong>You’re welcome</strong></em>. She thought to herself, knowing that women wouldn’t ever hear it.</p><p>As if this was a sign, everything started moving again. People jostled out onto the street to go on with what they had been doing. Some of them gave the strange trio a wide birth, others hurried over to them to catch a closer look or to offer help. The circle of people that was forming around Amara, Parker, and his mother started asking questions. “Are you two ok?” “Did you see that?” “Wasn’t that Noble Plath?” “Was that dog really protecting you? “Does that dog belong to you miss?”</p><p>To the last one Parker’s mother replied, “No, I have no clue whose dog it is.”</p><p>Someone helped her to her feet and she took Parker’s hand. “Can we keep her Mama?” he asked excitedly.</p><p>Amara took that as her cue to leave. There were too many people here and she had drawn way too much attention. Her shape was getting harder to hold as well. Mental exhaustion was setting in, despite her brief spike of adrenaline, and the fighter needed to get out of sight before she was forced to drop the perception.</p><p>There was also bound to be somebody in this crowd that went to the fights, and even if they couldn’t place it, or connect the dog they now saw with the ‘Dog’ of the pits, they could still recognize her collar. Furthermore, if her owner found out she had been running unleashed he would be, in a word<strong><em>, </em></strong><em>pissed</em>.</p><p>She looked around and found an opening into another alley. Taking one last glance at Parker, the southerner had to pause and smile. The kid was literally bouncing up and down with the potent mixture of attention and excitement churning in his little veins. Amara noticed his ball lying a few feet away, and she grabbed it with her mouth. Dropping it at his mother’s feet, she licked the boy from chin to scalp and relished the joy she saw sparking in his innocent eyes.</p><p><strong><em>See ya later kid</em></strong>. She thought to him, and with that, she gave him a wink and darted to the opening. She heard his giggle of delight fade behind her as she scrambled in between legs till she got to the mouth of the alley.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Now, as long as no one fallows me this—</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Her thought was cut off by a voice<strong>. </strong> Of course, she wasn’t that lucky. “Hey, stop that dog! We need to figure out who it belongs to!” she heard a man shout. <strong><em>Great… </em></strong>She glanced back to see three men and a teenage girl entering the alley at a jog. One of them whistled and yelled at her, “Here puppy! Come here!”</p><p><strong><em>Damn it!</em></strong> Amara cursed in her head. Trust her to find the only three morons in this neighborhood who actually cared about a mangy stray mutt. Now she had to lose these guys without revealing she was anything more than a dog or losing her shape; which was easier said than done.</p><p>Amara turned and took off down the alley. “Hey, there it is!” the girl exclaimed, followed by the sound of running feet.<strong><em> Shit, shit, shit! </em></strong>Amara chanted, flying around a corner.  It had just occurred to her that she had no clue where she was going. She knew most of the alleys in this city like the back of her hand, but this just so happened to be one of the few she didn’t. On top of that, she had lost her bearing of the main road in her mad dash to get out of sight. The usual slime that coated the ground of any respectable back alley wasn’t helping much either, and the rain had just made it worse. Her paws scrambled for purchase in the thick muck that clotted her coat all the way up to her underbelly.</p><p>“Stop! Come back!” Amara heard one of her pursuers shouted; much closer to her back than she would have liked. She ran faster, frantically looking for some kind of marker that would tell her where she was. She blindly took turns, trying to find a way to shake them, or pause long enough to shift. Her luck finally ran out when she took a left and was met with a dead end. She skidded to a halt and turned at the sound of her pursuers approaching. “I think it went this way.” Amara heard the girl say. </p><p>Now was her only chance to do something. She just prayed she could do it before they rounded the corner and saw her. Amara set her paws in a wide, steady stance and closed her eyes. Changing skins while human was difficult enough. Going from one layer to another without returning to her personal skin was damn near unmanageable. She’d only done it a few times, but as it stood she was out of options.</p><p>Her heart rate slowed and her breathing steadied. She opened her mind and focused, dropping all layers of herself and just <em>being</em>. Information flooded her body as she pushed her consciousness outward. Everything from the number of mitochondria in one of the blood cells circulating through her heart and the hunger of the nest of rats housed in a Styrofoam takeout box in a trash can to her right, to the combination of the four elements that made up the atmosphere at that exact moment. The Fire deep under her paws at the earth’s molten center, the Earth in the mud all around her, the Water mixed in the Air from the rain, and that nameless entity that was life. The life that her grandmother’s grandmother had felt in the mountains years before her birth. The life that her people had worshiped since before the days of the first men. In their tongue it was called <em>Katuwa. Unitsi</em>. Mother. </p><p>Amara felt the comfort that came with connecting to Katuwa settling into her chest. The mother opened her arms wide for her child and embraced her with welcome. It always felt to Amara like coming home after a long time away. Like no matter what, everything was going to be ok. This ancient earthly entity had seen the ages pass, and Amara had the vast honor of knowing her touch, of tasting her power and knowledge. Simple thing that she was, the fighter knew she wasn’t worthy of such a gift, but she had it all the same.</p><p>She let the world flood her senses and began to pick out what she would need for the change. She chose a pigeon, a skin she had worn before, so it could be completed faster. She brushed her mind over the element of Air, and coxed it to bend to her will.</p><p>If Life was the mother, then the elements were her children. Each of the four had its own unique feel to Amara, and each one made up everything in different parts. Grey molted feathers and wind danced behind her eyelids as Air rushed to her aid in the happy way it usually did. A breeze brushed around her in a caress of friendship and acceptance. Air, it seemed to Amara, was always cheerful. Until it wasn’t. Air could bite just as harshly as Fire when enraged in a storm. It could be just as stubborn and strong as Earth too, when it wanted to be.</p><p>She then turned her mind to her muscle and bone structure. The cells in her legs shrank and weakened while the muscles of her arms and chest expanded. Her lungs grew in proportion and everything got lighter. Amara never liked turning into birds. The sensation of hollowing out one's bones was never pleasant. A ripple ran over her skin and the coarse fur of the dog grew and formed a bi-layer of feathers. The world around her shot up as her legs shrank and became small talons. Her spin striated from a quadra-plane to a bipedal stance and her skull squeezed down around a nut-sized brain. Finally, the long canine muzzle bent in on itself and hardened into a beak to complete the change.</p><p>Rationally, she knew none of this was actually happening. But to become the bird she had to <em>be </em>the bird. And becoming anything new brought some amount of pain. She could still feel it prickling over her skin and throbbing in her bones.</p><p>Amara shook of these last few ripples and opened her eyes. Just in time, as well, to see the first of the men walk cautiously around the corner.</p><p><strong><em>Close call,</em></strong> she thought to herself. </p><p>The man stopped and looked around, confused. He took his hood down and Amara finally noticed he that had red hair…and wore the red paten jersey of the Good Samaritans' organization under his dingy blue raincoat. His brows scrunched together and he turned to call to his newfound comrades, “Hey, it’s gone!” </p><p>“What?” Amara heard from the other alley, as she shook out her feathers. The other males and the girl trotted around the corner soon after. It looked like the girl was a Good Samaritan too. Trust Amara to run into the bleeding heart organization at every beck and turn when she was one of the few people they couldn’t help.</p><p>Determined in their resolve to find the wayward collie, they all started to look behind trashcans and under litter, calling for a dog that no longer existed. Amara scuttled around one of their feet as they continued to look, and it gave her a perfect excuse to take off. She ran a few steps on her awkward little legs and then leaped into the air. She flapped hard for a moment until she got some air under her wings, then she lifted up with ease. The humans below shrank from view, and Amara almost felt sorry for them. They really did mean well<strong><em>, </em></strong>but their heroic chase had put her seriously off track.</p><p>As soon as she cleared the roof line she pulled in a tight circle to glide for a while. She still had no clue where she was, and now she <em>really</em> needed to get back. By now Kane was either about to bust a nut, or her bacon was already fried because her owner already knew she was missing.</p><p>She looked around and mentally smacked herself.<strong><em> Well, fuck me. I know exactly where I’m at. </em></strong>She thought self-deprecatingly. If she had been paying any attention at all the smell should have given it away like a neon sign. Amara folded her wings and landed on a nearby rooftop. Pigeons weren’t made for gliding and two shifts right after each other were seriously eating into her already dwindling energy reserves. She’d be lucky if she could hold this shape for more than five minutes.</p><p>What she stared down at from her rooftop would have made most people gag and turn away. The D.C., a communal waste dump for every manner of filth imaginable, stretched out before her. This place had once been an area for subsidized housing, but after the New Alliance took power it had been converted into a trash dump. Millions of people’s filth wound up here from the surrounding region. The stench was heinous and generally people tried to avoid this part of town. The trash was piled forty feet high and rivers of shit spilled between the hills of refuse. The place was foul…but Amara had once seen bodies stacked that high, so her stomach didn’t even quake. Hell, she didn’t even know what DC stood for, but some of the older generation liked to make jokes about some old city.</p><p>She was on the west side. Completely opposite of the way she’d been trying to go and there was no way she was making it back to the garage in this skin. She was going to have to land and shadow the rest of her way there. It would take longer, and there was a higher chance of someone from the fights seeing her, but it was her only option. And <em>fuck</em>, it was starting to rain again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three: The Garage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Amara makes it home...or at least the home she has.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you mean ‘you don’t know where she is’!” Kane yelled into his earpiece as he stormed into Yaruka’s garage.</p><p>“I mean exactly that! I don’t have a fucking clue where she is!” Tyler yelled right back.</p><p>“Damn it Tyler, one time! The one time I let you escort her to a meeting and you let her run out the damn back door!” Kane bit out, frantically looking through rooms and under cars. The garage was a huge building with two working shops that had lifts and attached wash bays, an office hallway, and a massive showroom for the noble’s cars to be displayed in after they’d been worked on. He wrenched open door after door, grabbing anyone he ran into to ask them if they had seen her. All the while he was continuing his argument with Tyler.</p><p>“What was I supposed to do!?! There was SWAT all over the goddamn place! I barely made it out of there myself, let alone having to look out for <em>her</em>! Besides, that undercover guy was on her ass. What would have been my excuse for following him? ‘Sorry Officer, but I have to make sure my boss’ fighter gets back ok! He’d be pretty mad if you caught either one of us… oops, never mind you already did!’ ” Tyler shot back sarcastically.</p><p>“You could have at least, oh I don’t know…DONE YOUR JOB!? Eye balled what direction they went in so we could have SOME fucking idea of where she is? But no, your craven ass hid under a drain pipe for two hours! Damn it, she’s not here!” he yelled, slamming the door to a Ferrari closed.</p><p>“Look,” Tyler said calmly, obviously biting back on irritation. “out of all the fighters in this city, who is the most likely to come back?” He let the question hang in the air for a moment, and then continued when Kane didn’t say anything. “And, who would be more apt to survive on the streets without getting nabbed by the FED, me or Amara?”</p><p>“Well we both know the answer to that question.” Kane bit back.</p><p>“I’m going to ignore that because you’re my boss. But anyway, you know she’s going to be fine! She probably has a better chance of finding her way back without having to drag me along. And besides, the girl probably just wants to see the town, stretch her legs a little bit. Run un-leashed for a moment or two.” he replied.</p><p>“And what happens when someone recognizes her and word gets back to Yaruka? You know what he’ll do to her if he finds out she got loss!” Kane hissed with renewed anger.</p><p>“And how is that my problem?” Tyler asked indifferently. “It’s not like I’d be to blame for her running off.”</p><p>Kane saw red. “Look,” he said coldly. “you better hope she shows up within the next hour or so help me I’ll make sure your ass goes down for this.”</p><p>“Whoa man, I—” His feeble argument was cut off by Kane ripping the earpiece away from his face and clicking it off. He let out an angry sigh and tried, again, to figure out where she might have gone. He had been sure she would come here, of all places. It was the closest of Yaruka’s properties that wasn’t <em>too</em> close to where the Midtown bust had gone down. She also seemed to like it here, and he’d thought she’d seek out that kind of security. The garage was one of the few places Kane had ever seen the fighter drop her guard, and it irked him that his prediction had been wrong. He ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and shook his head.</p><p>He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the mechanic that walked in behind him through the wash bay door. So when the man dropped his tool bag on the floor, Kane jumped.</p><p>“Well son, you seem to have yourself in some kind of predicament.” The mechanic said with a slight country drawl, sticking his hands into his jeans pockets.</p><p>“Jesus Marcus, you scared the crap out of me.” Kane replied, turning to face him. He was met with the sight of Marcus Kleven, one of Yuraku’s best mechanics. He was a big man, upwards of six feet tall and over 250 pounds. His hands were bear paws, marred with scars and stained from time and constant contact with oil. He had a gentle face thought; one that let his humorous and kind nature show through. His hair was brown with wisps of white appearing here and there and the slight wrinkles around his hazel eyes drew back when he smiled. The blue button-up shirt he was wearing displayed his name on the front chest pocket and was already covered in a mixture of brake dust and grease.</p><p>“Well lord knows I don’t wanna do that. The mess’d be horrible.” Marcus replied, moving to the front of the Ferrari.</p><p>“Ha ha.” Kane bit back without humor. “You haven’t seen Amara have you?” he asked quickly as Marcus popped the hood of the car and leaned in to stare at some contorted piece of metal that Kane assumed was the engine.</p><p>“Nope.” Marcus replied, popping his lips on the ‘P’. He reached forward and started to unscrew some kind of cap and Kane cursed. Marcus looked up sharply under his arm and fixed Kane with an intense stare. “You mean you haven’t?” he asked with raised eyebrows.</p><p>Kane hesitated. Not many of Yaruka’s employees were privy to exactly what Amara was and did. Most of them thought she was some kind of highly held hired gun or guard, and he wasn’t sure if Marcus was one of them or not. The mechanic saw this hesitation and said, “Son, near everyone that works in this garage knows. You might be able to pull the wool over on the house servants, but not us. We spend way too much time with that girl to know any different.” </p><p>Kane let out a puff of air and sighed, “I guess I should have known that.” He put his hands on his hips and stared down at his black leather shoes.</p><p>“So what happened?” Marcus inquired, leaning back on the hood of the car, his work forgotten.</p><p>“Well—” Kane began, but was interrupted by one of the windows on the far wall shattering. He ducked and threw his arms up to guard his face as glass sprayed everywhere. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead when they were hit with the cascade of sparkling crystal.</p><p>A small dark figure leapt through the now glassless frame, hands and arms first, as shards continued to descend. The figure rolled forward on its shoulder when it hit the ground and popped up on its feet again. The grace of her entrance was lost, though, when she let out a low “Whoa!” when the extra momentum forced her to throw her arms out to the side to keep from falling flat on her face. Kane lowered his arms and opened his mouth to inform whoever had just crashed into a Noble’s garage just how big of a fucking moron they really were, when his brain finally caught up with his eyes. He let out a breath, he realized, that he’d been holding ever since he’d gotten the call that she was missing. Standing in front of him, picking a shard of glass out of her long hair, stood Amara.</p><p>At first glance, she didn’t look dangerous. She stood only five feet four inches off the ground, short even by past standards, and her body language was open and friendly.  However, any further inspection left no doubt that this small creature knew how to kill. Scars crisscrossed her pail skin in jagged patterns like some demented quilting project gone aria. Hard muscle was lased under the southern pallor that matched her dark mahogany hair, and when she looked up her almond-shaped eyes were such a dark brown they appeared almost black in the dull light. They held a fire and hardness to them that only came from seeing too much blood and too much death. The buckle of the black and silver collar she wore jingled as she shook her head like a dog, spraying water droplets everywhere. Her clothes were soaked and a few locks of hair that had escaped the thong pulling it back in a low ponytail stuck to her cheeks.  She let out a breath he could see in the cool air and turned to smile at Marcus.</p><p>“Well, that wasn’t as smooth of an entrance as I planned it to be.” She said walking toward them, her boots squeaking on the polished floor.</p><p>“Good Lord girl!” Marcus replied, one bear-like head over his chest. “You keep scarin’ me like that and this old heart of mine ain’t gonna last much longer. What in Sam hell were you thinkin’, crashin’ in here like Indiana Jones?”</p><p>Amara stopped in front of the Ferrari and started ringing water out of her long ponytail. The fact that she was making a large puddle on the custom made marble floor was obviously of little concern. Then again, the broken window had already attested to that fact. “Who?” She asked, flipping her hair back over her shoulder.</p><p>“Oh, blasphemy! I forget just how young you are girly. That was a classic back in my day.”</p><p>“Sorry Marcus, some of us were born after the Stone Age.”</p><p>“Pity, least back then we knew who was screwing us over. You’ve probably never heard of the IRS, but trust me, they make Yaruka look like Mother Teresa.”</p><p>“Now her I’ve heard of.”</p><p>“Where the hell have you been?!”</p><p>Kane’s voice had a raw shrill to it, and the inquire rang wobbly because of it. The assistant, having finally decided to pull his jaw up off the floor and get his head back in business, cleared his through to try and dispel it. Amara just looked at him, brow arched, as if she’d just realized that he’d been there.</p><p>“Well, if you haven’t heard, we had a little bit of an issue in Midtown this morning.” She stated matter-of-factly. “Made for an interesting meeting.”</p><p>Kane swallowed around a smart retort and crossed his arms across his chest, waiting for her to continue. The fighter didn’t disappoint, and Kane had to resist the urge to snort.  </p><p>“And by the way, your boy Tyler? He’s about three sticks short of a campfire and one of the shittiest guards I’ve ever had. And that’s including that asshole form the Knowles family that pissed himself.” She said, tone thick with sarcasm and humor. Kane could see the strain of the day in her tense upper back and the bags under her eyes though, but couldn’t resist being taken aback. He never could help but rise to her prodding.</p><p>“Uh, yeah. I fucking heard. I also heard you ditched your detain and took a little joy trot. What the hell were you thinking running unleashed!?! One of Carlos’ boys <em>saw</em> you. Tyler sold you out the minute you ran out that door. You’re lucky he only called <em>me</em> to talk about how your scrawny ass had disappeared… <em>Alone</em>! I’ve been running around like an idiot trying to find you for hours! You should have come straight here.” To Kane’s chagrin, his voice once again rose to a higher pitch than intended. Instead of the bass line reprimand he’d envisioned, he instead sounded like a nagging housewife. And Amara did not look impressed. She turned to face him full on and put her scarred hands on her hips.</p><p>“Well pardon me <em>Mom</em>, but it wasn’t like I was trying to escape a god damned SWAT team, or, I don’t know, like I had a fucking detective on my ass from the minute I made is out of the warehouse. Or, you know, like I was running around the city for <em>hours</em> dodging FED trying to save my ass and <em>yours </em>for that matter! I made it here when I could, you oblivious cauliflower!” To his left, Marcus snorted and Kane flicked an affronted glare at the man on instinct. Amara was still going though, and the frivolity of their spat was killed on her next sentence. “It’s not like you have to tell me what happens when I get caught out on my own. It’s not <em>your</em> hide it gets taken out of!”</p><p>The fighter had leaned forward during her tirade until her nose was almost brushing the front of Kane’s button-down. She still had water running down from her wet hair and a drop had slid down her cheek to dangle from her chin. If it weren’t for the gut-wrenching truth in her words Kane would have thought she looked like an adorable wet cat; hissing mad with righteous fury. Instead, something in his chest twisted and he immediately felt regret for what he’d said. He knew how right she was, and it put a bitter taste in his mouth. <em>His</em> hide wasn’t on the line. Not physically at least.</p><p>Almost to give proof to her statement, when she turned her fiery eyes from him the light caught on a silvery scar on her upper lip.  With her mouth pulled down in a scowl, it had pulled the right side of her lip away from her teeth in a snarling grimace. The straight line that ran through her right eye also enhance the v in between her brows as she stalked over to the wash bay to grab a threadbare drop cloth, which she then slung across her shoulders.</p><p>Marcus crossed his arms from where he again leaned back against the hood of the car and raised a wiry brown at Kane. The unspoken <em>‘Really son?’ </em>hung in the air between them. Kane sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ok! Alright. I get it. You got here when you could. I’m sorry. I’m just glad you’re back.” He raised his eyes to look at her. “What the hell even<em> happened</em>? I thought you said the only undercover you had sniffed out was that Banner guy?”</p><p>Amara toweled off her head and ran the rag down her cargo pant clad legs. She raised one foot to begin to unlace the boot, then kick it off along with a still sopping sock.</p><p>“He <em>was </em>the only one.” She said, still with some annoyance in her tone. “Banner was good. Lasted longer than anyone else they’ve sent in, but it was definitely just him. I honestly don’t think the guy approved the hit today. Probably came down from some big wig in the FED, but if he had had time to plan a hit himself he would have had us. By the time I fingered him he already knew our whole schedule. Locations, names…. Guy knew everything.”Amara’s hands fell to her waist and she began to pull the hem of her t shirt up and off. Kane turned his back with a blush, his mother’s voice screeching in his ears to never look at a lady without permission. Marcus also turned to bury his head under the hood of the Ferrari.</p><p>She was a dog, a fighter. He knew this and knew that privacy and modesty should not have been expected of her, but old habits die hard. He heard the wet shirt hit the ground and not long after heard the clinking of a belt buckle and the wet slap of her pants seconds later. “I heard Banner talking to his partner after.” She continued, her voice muffled from behind the wash bay wall. “Apparently they only got four, which he was not happy about. Any idea who they snagged? Wasn’t your boy Tyler right? Saw him high tailing it out a side door.” She said the last part with a small chuckle.</p><p>“Last I heard from Carlos it was Tania, Hector, and two newbies just looking to watch. And stop calling him my ‘boy’. I think the guy’s pathetic too.” Kane replied.</p><p>“Shit! Damn it, Hector’s a good guy. Hell of a scrapper too. God, and Tania! New blood I don’t care about. They don’t know jack yet, but Tania’s a good filch. She’ll break…. Bless her heart, but she’ll fold Kane.”</p><p>Kane heard rustling from behind the wall. Her voice was muffled and then clear again as she dressed. In what, Kane had no idea.</p><p>She was right though. Put to questioning, Tania would break. She was a sassy older woman with blonde hair and a quick mouth, which helped her make a good living as a filch at the fights. Betting and talking up the fights she was good at. Her bravado and fading sexuality drew watchers in like flies, and she had the lot of them eating out of her hand. It was all pomp and circumstance though. Under it all everyone who actually knew a thing or two knew Tania was all bark and very little bite.</p><p>“Carlos will take care of it.” He said to the floor.</p><p>“Damn it…..” was all he heard in response. There was pain in her voice and the darker part of Kane scoffed at her compassion. Marcus shook his head from where he stared down at the sport’s car's engine and let out a ‘tsking sound from between his teeth.</p><p>“So from that I gather ol’ Tania’s not gonna make it out of the boot with her tongue.” The mechanic said while reaching for a tool at his feet. “Don’t know the women, but that’s a cryin’ shame.” </p><p>“You would have liked her Marcus.” Amara’s voice grew louder as she walked from behind the wall. “She has a little spitfire in her. And Christ, you two ‘gentlemen’ can turn around now. I’m decent.”</p><p>Kane turned and didn’t know what to expect. He knew there were spare clothes here for the mechanics to change into after work or in case of the odd oil spill, but surely to god there was nothing here that would fit the slight fighter.</p><p>Amara stood in a blue mechanics shirt, not unlike the one Marcus wore, with the name “Sylvina” embroidered on the front pocket. She’d tied the ends of the button up together to keep them from hanging past her thighs, and the knot now rested just below her rib cage. She still wore the tight athletic shorts she always wore under her pants. They were black, and came to mid-thigh. She preferred, usually, to live and fight in the thick cargo pants that come in a wide range of three colors; black, grey, and a darker black. <em>Less skin exposed mean less skin to flay, and I ain’t scrubbing blood out of some blue jeans every day,</em> she always said. But if the thick material became a hindrance rather than an aid in a fight she was quick to shed them for this skin-tight option. <em>Full range of motion equals full ass-kicking ability, </em>she’d joke. <em>A slow man’s a dead man. Same thing’s true for dogs. </em></p><p>Her collar, the only constant in her wardrobe, still hung about her neck. It was always there, never to be removed until the day of her death. Black leather and silver studs met at a thick buckle that rested at the hollow of her throat. It was a prominent reminder of just what she was. For all to see and never forget the vow she had taken.</p><p>Kane had never really seen her with this much skin exposed. Sure, he’d seen her almost naked in the pits during a fight; a lot of people had. But during the melee of the crowd, the screams and shouts of the watchers, and through the bars that locked the top of the pit you couldn’t really see anything besides the blinding speed at which she moved, the shape of bodies as they clashed, and the blood. You always saw the blood.</p><p>Here, however, in the flickering light of the fluorescents, he was able to take her in completely. The scars on her face and arms he’d seen before. During the first few months that he’d been employed near her he’d quietly memorized them. In his moments of boredom his mind would drift and he’d try to figure out what had caused each one. Like some kind of sick fascination, he’d picture the pucker of a burn on her neck, or the curved and raised edges from a blade along both forearms. The crisscrossed hatching marks that almost looked like they’d come from a cheese grater on her shoulder or the bowed line on her cheekbone that almost seemed to cup her left eye. Each one was a story, and Kane had fancied himself the author on more than one occasion before he’d shake himself from the morbid fantasy.</p><p>He’d also caught glimpses of a few on her legs from the knee down. When she would roll a pants leg up to lace up her boots, he’d catch the three thick ropes of scaring around her left calf and the quarter-inch deep divot on the front of her right shin. He’d never seen the bullet graze on the back of her thigh though, or the vicious bit mark just above her knee. He wondered, a slight knot forming in his stomach, whether it had come from human or beast. Her feet, too, were not left unscathed. On the top of each one there was a perfectly circular knot of tissue. <strong><em>Nails</em></strong>, Kane’s brain supplied helpfully, and the assistant fought down a grimace. Around each ankle, a pink and grey band rested as well, and Kane knew she had a matching set about each wrist. They were an inch and a half wide, and almost purple in the cold and wet of the garage.</p><p>Not all of the scars were unknown to him. The warped line above her left breast, just below her collar bone had been put there less than a month ago. A tough fight with Noble Illyn’s latest had put her chest first into a barbwire fence. She’d taken the man’s head off with that same length of wire not two minutes later. Below the hem of her borrowed shirt her right side was still a mass of molted bruises from last week’s fight. If it hurt her to breathe, she didn’t show it, but it sure as shit looked like it did.</p><p>In Kane’s opinion though, the worst mark ran across her belly, diagonally from the jut of her bottom left rib down toward her right hip. It looked like she’d been gutted…and she had been. It was the first time Kane had been convinced she was going to die.</p><p>In all honesty, she should have been hideous. Standing there with all that horror exposed, she should have been sickening to look at. Kane didn’t know if it said more about her personality or his that he was able to stare at her with only the slightest rumbling of his stomach. That her visage awakened no feeling of remorse, only wonder at just how the hell she was still alive. That when he looked at her, really looked at her, he wasn’t sickened but astonished at her sheer ability to keep kicking.</p><p>At least, that’s what he told himself.</p><p>Marcus cleared his throat beside him and Kane shook himself. The big mechanic looked from Amara to the floor and back to Kane. The wrinkles beside his eyes were more pronounced now and his lips were tight. <strong><em>He’s never seen her like this either</em></strong>, Kane realized. <strong><em>Bet it’s hard for him.</em></strong></p><p>“What?” Amara asked. She was staring at them sideways as she braided her hair over her shoulder. She flipped the braid back and walked toward them, sure-footed on the cold marble floor. “Do I have something on my face?”</p><p>It was an old running jock. Amara was aware of what she looked like, and she found it amusing to torture people who were struck dumb by her appearance with the blithe question. <strong><em>Yes, there is always something on your face,</em></strong> Kane thought morbidly. <strong><em>A scar for every eyelash</em></strong>. </p><p>Marcus shook his head and ran a large hand through his hair. “Girl, you look like a drowned rat. Ain’t you cold?”</p><p>“Kinda. But hey, it’s better than being wet. You still got those spare coveralls and that big farm jacket in your office?” Amara asked with childlike hope in her eyes.</p><p>“You betcha. Here, take the key and don’t let Matt see you runnin’ around. That boy’s a hound dog and you know it.”</p><p>“Oh ha ha. Very funny old man.”</p><p>Amara took the key from the mechanic’s outstretched hand and, despite her sarcasm, looked both ways down the hall before heading to the office.</p><p>There was a pregnant pause between the two men in her wake. Marcus moved to take up the shop broom and dustpan from where they leaned beside the far wall and began to sweep up the broken glass from the fighter’s entrance. Just as Kane was about to reach for his phone to let Tyler know his skin was still going to be attached by the end of the day, Marcus sighed. With a voice that sounded like it carried one of Yaruka’s cars on its shoulders, he said, “I don’t know how much longer she can keep goin’ like this.”</p><p>Kane paused, earpiece halfway to his ear. “What do you mean? She seems fine to me.”</p><p>In reality Kane was just glad that she’d shown up. If he’d had to tell Yaruka that they couldn’t find her…. His relief was quickly dissipating though. And Marcus’ next words made him frown. </p><p>The mechanic looked at him hard. “Boy, that girl’s tired. Bone tired. She ain’t one to show it, but them pits every week? They’re killin’ ‘er. She keeps takin’ damage and sooner or later it’s gonna pile up too big.” He shoved the broken glass into the shop bin with big hands that shook. “I know what she did. I know the promise she made, but son…. She’s more scar than girl now.”</p><p>Kane didn’t know what to say. Somewhere deep down he knew Marcus was right. So right that it was painful, but Kane had never allowed himself to think about Amara as anything more than what she was. A dog. She was a fighting dog and nothing more. Anytime her humanity started to show through; started to prove that notion false, Kane shoved her and his feelings on the matter quickly back behind that label.</p><p>“Look,” he said finally. “Amara’s strong. She’s going to be fine. She always is. Scars don’t mean anything to her and if you’d ever seen her in a fight you’d know that she’s fine with the way things are. She <em>likes </em>to fight Marcus. She’s good at it.”</p><p>Marcus walked slowly back toward the Ferrari and began his work a new. He didn’t look at Kane when he all but whispered, “Boy…You got no idea how wrong you are.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four: The Noble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Amara slipped into the coveralls and faded Carhart farm jacket with a contented sigh. As warm as it was getting during the day it was still freezing in Trinity when it rained, especially here in the garage surrounded by the steel beams, marble floors, and cold metal shelving. It was like this place sucked the warmth out of her very core, just to spite the warm people that worked within it. But finally, after hours of running through the city, she was warm.</p><p>She lifted the collar to her nose and inhaled. The jacket smelled like her big friend. Like spicy cologne, motor oil, gasoline, and fire. There was still a faint whiff of cigarette smoke left in the cuff on the right sleeve. Marcus had quite over a year ago, but this jacket rarely saw the inside of a washing machine. This was the closest smell to home she’d had in a while, and she quietly relished it. It always made her feel less alone on days like this.</p><p>She felt the muscles in her calves and thighs shake. Her right knee, the worst of the two, shimmered and nearly gave out. She gripped the edge of the metal office desk hard to stay on her feet. She knew once she got horizontal she wasn’t going to be getting back up for a while. The fighter took a deep breath that rattled against her bruised ribs, and closed her eyes for a moment. With the fluorescents gone from her vision she could center herself. She felt her body sway slightly and she gripped the desk again. Amara cursed her weakness. Exhaustion was not going to help her get through the rest of the day, and whatever healing she’d done over the past week had been torn to sunder in the last six hours.</p><p><strong><em>Damn the FED and damn them again. </em></strong>She thought with a grimace. <strong><em>If they could just learn to leave well enough alone. </em></strong>But in all honesty Amara knew why the police were sticking their noses back into the rings. There had been too many bodies lately. Used to be that blood was enough to satisfy most crowds, but recently the fights were getting more and more intense. Nobles were starting to bring in dogs that would only settle for a corps at their feet, and people were getting sloppy with word of mouth. The rings were getting too big, plain and simple. Something was going to have to change soon, but Amara had no idea what. <strong><em>And that’s not my job</em>,</strong> she reminded herself staunchly. <strong><em>My job is to keep fighting, for however long I can.</em></strong></p><p>Amara opened her eyes and straightened her spine. She made her way out of the office and down the white-walled hallway toward the first garage. Kane would know where to go from here, and she was relieved to not have to make a decision for the first time in hours. She just prayed to Katuwa that her owner hadn’t had the chance to hear that she was out on her own yet.</p><p>Amara put her hand on the knob that would take her back into the wash bay when a shouted, “Hey!” from down the hall stopped her. <strong><em>Fuck</em>,</strong> she thought dejectedly. <strong><em>I really don’t have the patience for this right now</em>. </strong></p><p>Mathew ‘Stone’ Sharron trotted toward her with the slimy smirk of a cat scenting a rat’s nest. He was a shorter boy with too much fluff still about the middle. And a boy he still was, though he and she were probably similar in years.</p><p>He wore his brown hair long enough to brush his ears, which made the top pull flat and greasy across the dome of his head. He wasn’t built enough to be intimidating nor was he small enough to be construed as weak. In all aspects this young man was average, which Amara knew he resented. He made up for it in spades by being a giant pain in the ass and a winey little shit on most days. He drove a bumped-up escalade that his noble-wife mother had given to him and something about him made Amara’s skin crawl.</p><p>“Well, well. Look what the DC coughed up. How’s it going ‘Mara?” He asked, shoving his chubby hands into the front of his designer slacks.</p><p>“It’s ‘Amara’ Stone. <em>With</em> an ‘A’.” the fighter replied, deadpan. “And I’m trying to get back to work, if you don’t mind.” What kind of work she was careful not to specify. Her friends at the garage knew what she was, but Stone was far from a friend.</p><p>She went to open the door but Stone’s hand pushed it back to the frame. He bracketed her in from the left and leaned in with his upper body. “You know what, I think I <em>do</em> mind.” He sneered out from behind her ear. Amara heard his thin lips smack against his crooked teeth.</p><p>He meant for her to feel trapped. He wanted her to be afraid and Amara had to stop herself from laughing in his face. She turned slowly to face the smug little insect and repressed the urge to break his jaw.</p><p>Instead, she said, “Stone, I couldn’t give a steaming wet cow turd what you want. Now get the <em>fuck</em> out of my way.”</p><p>Stone drew up at that. His nose scrunched and his mouth twisted into an affronted pucker. She doubted any women had ever stood up to him before and he likely didn’t know how to take it. This pompous brat fancied himself a predator, when all she saw before her was a rutting stag, boisterous and flashing his prongs. Dangerous, yes, but still prey for any wolf. And Amara’s haunches were raised; her teeth ready to bear. She’d had a long day and this little twit was trying her already short temper.</p><p>“Listen you ugly bitch— !” Stone was cut off by the door opening suddenly outward.</p><p>“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Marcus asked, towering over Stone.</p><p>“Mr. Kleven! Uh… no sir! I mean ugh….” Stone stuttered and backed up a good three steps.</p><p>“Oh shut it Matt. Get down to the office and get to work. Make that parts call to Tanex that you were supposed to do yesterday and quite hassling my wrench.”</p><p>Stone threw a scowl over his shoulder as he hustled down the hall and Amara had to resist the urge to stick her tongue out like a child. She turned to Marcus and smiled up at the mechanic. “You know, you didn’t have to come to my rescue. I can handle Stone of all people.”</p><p>Marcus held the wash bay door open for her and Amara made her way into the garage once again. Kane was on the phone. Her bare feet curled against the cold floor and she shoved her hands in the deep pockets of her borrowed jacket. He didn’t look happy.</p><p>“I know you can handle it. You just don’t have to.” Marcus drawled in reply, and Amara was struck suddenly with how much it ached to hear that. All of a sudden she saw her grandfather standing before her, and not the burly mechanic. Like the flashbulb of a camera, the memory punched the breath from her chest and tightened her throat. An ache like a throbbing pulse reverberated below her sternum and Amara swallowed to try and clear it. Just as quickly it was gone, and the fighter had to resist the urge to squeeze her eyes shut in its wake.</p><p>She shouldn’t have been surprised. Marcus had always reminded her of her Babu. He reminded her of her father too, but in smaller ways. For example, he’d called her a ‘wrench’ just now. It was the mechanic’s way of saying she was ‘<em>A damn good and reliable tool</em>’.</p><p>“<em>Only the best mechanics are called wrenches girl.” </em>He’d told her once.<em>“It’s your right-hand tool. Never did have a good wrench let me down</em>.”</p><p>Before his death Babu had once called her <em>jembe</em> in the old tongue, she remembered. A nickname that had carried over after the old man had passed it seemed. <em>Jembe</em> meant ‘worker’s tool’, and Amara felt her throat close slightly. The past always made her heart hurt in strange ways, and the dog in her shook itself. <strong><em>Not now</em></strong>, she thought biting down. <strong><em>Not now</em></strong>.</p><p>“I understand sir.” Kane spoke, pulling her attention back to the pacing assistant.</p><p>“Yes sir….. No sir, she’s here, she’s standing right in front of me…. Of course sir. We were made aware of the situation as soon as possible, but police presence made it difficult to—……. Yes sir. We’ll be waiting. Are there any special instructions?....... No sir, I’ll get on that right away.” Kane clicked off his earpiece and removed it from the side of his face. He turned to Amara and the fighter felt what little hope she’d had drain out of her. If it was possible, she felt even more tired; her shoulders gaining weight with Kane’s tight-lipped gaze.</p><p>“He knows doesn’t he?” She asked without needing an answer. The shadow behind Kane’s eyes said all she needed to know. She thought to ask him who had ratted her out, but decided it really didn’t matter. “How long do we have till he gets here?”</p><p>“Probably around twenty minutes. He was at the office but they’re headed this way now. Traffic’s a little backed up though. The FEDs still have most of Midtown blocked off.”</p><p>“Shit…. Well, no avoiding it now. What are the special instructions?”</p><p>“He wants you in the main office….and all other employees to clear the premises.” Kane looked at Marcus out of the corner of his eye as he said the last part. Amara saw the mechanic’s back straighten and his lips pull down at the corner. Something was aggravating him. He didn’t want to leave.</p><p><strong><em>It’s not because he cares about me. </em></strong>She thought to herself to squash the wave of feeling that hit her in the chest. <strong><em>He just doesn’t want to have to finish the Ferrari tomorrow. The Lincoln needs a tune-up too…. Yeah, he’s just frustrated. Old man hates getting behind schedule.  </em></strong></p><p>“Well old man, looks like you get the rest of the day off.” She said to try and lighten his spirits.</p><p>He just looked at her. His weathered hands tightened on the torch wrench he held and his usually kind eyes hardened. “Yeah…looks like.”</p><p>And the burden in that tone was impossible for the fighter to deny. He was worried about her, and she hated herself for it. This was not his fault. There was nothing he could do to change anything and the old man had enough to worry about without concerning himself with her hide.</p><p>She uncrossed her arms and walked to the mechanic’s side. Placing a scarred hand on his broad forearm she softly said, “Marcus….just leave it ok? I’ll be fine. It’s just Yaruka. No big deal right? Just go home. Say hey to Lisa for me, alright? And tell that kid of yours congratulations! I’m glad he finally got the guts to pop the question.”</p><p>Some light came back into Marcus’ eyes at that. “Me too girl, me too. The Misses thought we’d never get that boy to wise up. She already itchin’ to be a grandma,” he said with a wistful smile.</p><p>Amara smiled too. The thought of Marcus and Lisa being grandparents made her heart ache. She wanted that happiness so much for the big mechanic who had such a big heart. “She’ll be great at it. You too, ‘papaw’. Just tell her to give them some time. Nobody needs a little squalor right after a wedding.”</p><p>“<em>Papaw</em>…lord that gives me chills” he said, gathering his tools and closing the hood of the sports car. He turned and headed for the door. He didn’t exit the garage though. Dropping his tool bag on the metal shelving to the right of the door, he walked back to where she and Kane stood and gripped the fighter by her shoulders. Looking her dead in the eye he said, “Now you listen to me girl. You keep your chin tucked in there. Ain’t nothin’ worth your blood sweetheart, nothin’. You hear me? Leave that pride of yours in here with me and Mr. Bluetooth over there.” He jutted his chin toward Kane who gave and affronted huff. “Save your fire girl, you’re my wrench remember? I need my good tools now, and I ain’t never had a good wrench let me down.”</p><p>With that he released her shoulders, and walked from the garage. She heard him yell to Matt that plans had changed and that they were both headed home for the day. Amara just stood there, hollow, with Kane behind her. Neither said a word. She took a deep breath and let it out slow. Stepping up to the abandoned Ferrari, Amara ran her hand over its cherry red corners, and marveled at the difference in appearance and texture. Her hand, a patchwork of crisscrossed lines and rough tissue, the fingers gnarled and swollen in places, and the car a smooth line of polished fiberglass. So different, yet both were merely tools in the end. Extensions of their master’s will.</p><p>“Marcus has got a kid?” Kane interrupted her musing. She glanced over her shoulder, but the man was still staring at the door. Amara looked back to the Ferrari.</p><p>“Yeah,” she replied pulling her hand back. “His name’s Scott, twenty-four. He went to school out west. Had a steady girlfriend for the last five years or so; she’s a nurse at children’s. Finally asked her to marry him last week. They’re a cute couple, and Marcus and Lisa adore the girl. They’ll be happy, I think.”</p><p>“You know an awful lot about a mechanic.”</p><p>Amara turned to Kane to give him a hard stare. “He’s not just a mechanic, he’s Marcus. And I know a lot about a lot of people. By the way, what’s her name?”</p><p>Kane finally turned his head to her with an eyebrow raised. “What’s who’s name?” he asked in confusion and with slight suspicion.</p><p>Amara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Dude, you smell like strawberries and those are the same pants you wore yesterday. You also haven’t shaved in three days and you have this dopy smile on your face whenever you read every third message or so that you get on that earpiece of yours.”</p><p>Both of Kane’s eyebrows were now creeping toward his hairline and he spread his arms to look down at himself quickly. He looked back up at her in shock and with a slight blush. Flustered, he spouted, “How the hell do you <em>do</em> that?! No one notices shit like that! It’s creepy as fuck Amara!”</p><p>The fighter threw back her head and barked out a laugh<strong>. <em>God, he’s easy to goad</em></strong>. “It’s called observation Kane. Maybe you should try it sometime? You should also think about carrying your own soap with you too, man. <em>Strawberry splash</em> is definitely not your most attractive sent.”</p><p>Kane blushed a deeper shade of pink and sniffed his own collar. He glared back at the fighter with more annoyance than actual anger. “I <em>am</em> observant. Hell, it’s part of my job. What you do isn’t ‘observant’. It’s fucking uncanny! What, can you read minds on top of being able to break bones?” Kane bit out.</p><p>Amara crossed her arms and leaned back against the sports car without responding. It wasn’t mind reading that had told her where the assistant had been spending his nights. She was being honest with him. It was just observation. Observation boosted by years of training and her natural connection to the world around her, but Kane didn’t need to know that. No one needed to know that and she hoped to Katuwa no one ever did. Her life was already complicated without people finding out she was a grade-A aberration.</p><p>As a fighter she always had to be two steps ahead. Reading a jive to the left or the flex of a calf could be the difference between avoiding a blow or getting her head taken off. Her mind was still wide open as well, despite the safety of the garage. Her senses were still a live wire from her flight through the city, and truthfully the manufactured sickly sweet strawberry smell on him had smacked her in the face the minute she busted through the garage window.</p><p>She probably should have felt worse about that. Though the cost of the glass would come out of Yaruka’s pocket, somebody was going to have to replace it. She’d wanted to get the hell out of sight though, and the window was faster than the front door. Carlos’ boy had seen her doubling back through Midtown already, so she’d decided to fuck decorum and just bust through the damn thing.</p><p>“So, what’s her name?” she said, continuing after a pause.</p><p>Kane looked down sheepishly and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, mussing the curls slightly. “…Sarah.” He finally responded.</p><p>“<em>Sarah</em>. What an upstanding name.”</p><p>Kane rolled his eyes and mirrored her leaning stance against the classic Viper on the opposite wall.</p><p>“So how’d you meet ‘er?” the fighter continued.</p><p>“Lloyd had a party two weeks ago and well…” Kane began, staring at a middle space between them, but then he shook himself. “Why do you even want to know?” he asked acerbically, making eye contact. There was suspicion in his tone.</p><p>Amara met his gaze for a moment, then closed her eyes and shrugged. “Just curious I guess.” She looked back to him. “It takes a lot to get you ruffled. I figured it was either sex or money, and you’re not nearly as greedy as you want people to think you are, so that narrowed it down to sex. She’s also got to be quite the girl to get you to wear the same slacks two days in a row.” She rolled her head to the side to try and dislodge a crick she’d developed in the last few minutes now that the adrenaline had worn off.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kane asked with genuine curiosity.</p><p>She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Means you care about your appearance? I don’t know. I just think you have too many pairs of pants and too many Italian shirts to go with them.”</p><p>“No you smart ass! The part about me not being greedy.”</p><p>Amara paused and narrowed her eyes at the man. She contemplated dropping it. <strong><em>Let him pretend he’s just as corrupt as he thinks he is</em></strong>, she thought to herself. But that wouldn’t do.</p><p>“It means you still care.” She finally said. “As much as you try to hide it, deep down, you still give a shit Kane. And I’m telling you now, in this life it’s either gonna get you killed or get you out. And knowing you, you’re not even sure which one you want yet.”</p><p>Kane sat back at that, and Amara mentally winced. She hadn’t meant to be that harsh. Her words hit him harder than she’d intended and the fighter closed her eyes to his slighted shock and dropped her head. <strong><em>Fuck, </em></strong>she thought, rubbing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. <strong><em>I really am tired. And he really didn’t know that I’d noticed—…. Well, at least he knows now. For better or worse. </em></strong></p><p>“….You don’t know me.” Kane all but whispered in reply after a long minute.</p><p>Amara rolled her head to the other side and sighed. “Whatever you say man.” She said in return and rolled her shoulders back. She glanced up at the round face clock above the wash bay door. “I better head down to the office. Don’t want to piss him off anymore than he already is. Did he say anything else? Any other instructions for me?”</p><p>“No….just that he wanted to speak with you privately. No interruptions.”</p><p><strong><em>Wouldn’t want that, would we</em></strong>? “Well, let’s do this.”</p><p>Stopping first to pick her wet clothes up off the wash bay floor, they made their way back down the white hallway and paused before the main office door. Protocol said he’d stay outside and guard the access while she went in alone in the absence of any other escort. They both knew she could take his head off without even thinking about it if she really wanted to go anywhere, but if her owner was anything; it was a stickler for protocol.</p><p>“If I don’t see you again for a few days tell Sarah I said ‘Hi’ will you?”</p><p>Kane nodded mutely and started to type something into his phone. He was avoiding eye contact and Amara didn’t like it. She opened the office door and stepped inside. “And hey Kane?” she asked, finally getting him to meet her eye. “Don’t worry about it. Everybody else thinks you’re just as slimy as you think you are. No one knows any better besides me.” <strong><em>And now maybe Sarah</em></strong>, she added to herself. “And who’s going to listen to a dog anyway?”</p><p>And as she closed the door, she saw something close to regret in his hazel eyes.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five: To please your Master</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is a little longer, and gets a little intense. You have been warned</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kane stared at the office door as if his eyes alone could call her back through it. <strong><em>That didn’t just happen.</em></strong> He thought, feeling his hands begin to shake. <strong><em>I didn’t just hear her say that</em></strong>.</p><p>Amara had always been good a reading people. Like scary good at reading people. From a bit of shoe lint and a few stray cat hairs it seemed like she could get a person’s whole life story, and it freaked Kane out every time. She’d never really done it to him before, however.</p><p>Sure, she loved to prod him about stupid shit. If he hadn’t been home the night before and she saw it in the set of his hair. If he was seeing someone new or had a date that night and was wearing cologne. Hell, if he’d tripped going up the stairs and she saw a scuff on his Italian leathers she’d give him a hard time, but she’d never unloaded what the other handlers called ‘an Amara Truth Bomb’ on him before.</p><p>He’d heard the boys talking about it before in the break room at Yaruka’s office.</p><p>“I’m telling you Lloyd, she fuckin’ just <em>knows</em> stuff. Like shit my own mother doesn’t know about!” Demarko had said animatedly over his coffee.</p><p>“Man, that’s bull shit. She’s not a fuckin’ psychic. She’s a <em>Dog</em> Demarko. Chick’s just got a good eye.” Lloyd had replied, pulling his plastic lunch from the microwave.</p><p>“No, you don’t get it man!” The other security guard continued. “She knew me and Kiesha were having problems, somehow, and then told me that, ‘<em>Maybe you should stop fucking around with whoever wears that bubble gum perfume</em>.’ Like how the fuck does she even know I <em>have</em> a girlfriend let alone about Ellie!?!”</p><p>“You’re still hangin’ on to Ellie? What the hell man? You know that bitch is crazy. And a side-slice Demarko? Really? Kiesha’s gonna cut your balls off while you sleep one of these days.”</p><p>“That’s beside the fucking point!” Demarko slammed his mug down on the break room table, sloshing lukewarm coffee over the brim. Lloyd just chuckled until Young, a quiet man who rarely wasted his breath on shooting the shit with the other guards, spoke up from across the room.</p><p>Quietly, and without looking up from his own coffee, he said, “She told me I should go back to school; that I was too smart to be somebody’s glorified baby sitter for the rest of my life.” The guard’s eyes were far away and Kane distantly wondered what had spooked the man. “She also said that I’d get into Ithaca if I applied. I got this this morning.” He held up an opened envelope that he’d pulled from his breast pocket. Across the top of the letter read the words, ‘<em>Congratulations! Welcome to Ithaca University’</em>.</p><p>“Congratulations Young! That’s awesome!” Kane had said to the younger man, trying to break the sudden awkward air in the room.</p><p>There was a long pause as Young turned his head to look at them coolly. Finally, he said, “Last week she told McCurly that he was going get himself hurt if he didn’t stop pulling his gun first and asking questions later. McCurley's in the hospital, Kane. He pulled his piece on an undercover and got put down by six FEDs, with rubber bullets, thank God. If he hadn’t drawn there wouldn’t have been an issue. Now he’s got four broken ribs and a brain bleed because he wouldn’t drop the fucking gun.” The break room had gotten eerily quiet. Young continued, “I’m not saying she’s psychic. I’m just saying that I’m taking her advice. I’m going back to school. I don’t want to die doing this.”</p><p>Kane pulled himself back from the memory to Yaruka’s garage with a jerk. He forced out a long breath and leaned his forehead against the cool sheetrock wall. <strong><em>She’s wrong</em></strong>, he thought, closing his eyes. <strong><em>I don’t </em>care<em>. I’m in this for the money. The money’s good and the respect I have is better. I need both to do what </em>I <em>want to do. That’s all I want out of this business. I’m in this for myself. I </em>don’t<em> care. She has to be wrong.</em></strong></p><p>He felt more than heard the show room’s massive door roll up. The boss was here, and Kane needed to pull himself together. He checked his phone and got the ‘All clear’ from Shelbey, the garage’s receptionist, that everyone had left the building and puffed out a breath in relief. He turned to put his back to the door in a proper guard position. The rigid ‘at ease’ stance still came naturally to him, even after two years as Yaruka’s personal assistant.</p><p>Lloyd came around the corner first, eyes alert and scanning, followed closely by Demarko, and then the man himself came into view. Susumu Yaruka walked like the world was at his feet and wasn’t moving fast enough for him. An air of command and disapproval rolled off of him in waves and his gaze cut through you like a razor blade if you were unlucky enough to draw his attention for longer than a few seconds. All the power and honor of old Japan was in this man’s demeanor, and Kane had seen how it could make men twice Yaruka’s size shrink beneath its weight. Today he wore a charcoal suit that was as sleek as one of his exotic cars and a blood-red tie to match. Only the golden chain and broach above his left breast pocket and the robin’s egg-sized diamond ring on his right hand denoted his Noble status. Unlike other Nobles Yaruka didn’t feel the need to drape himself in finery.</p><p>“Mr. Godsden. Thank you for your diligence. I trust that my instructions were carried out?” The sire of Midtown spoke with a thick Asian accent, his words clipped and harsh. Kane doubted he could ever sound soft, even if he tried, with that voice. </p><p>“Yes sir. All staff have cleared the area and I’ve blocked off your schedule for the next two hours. There will be no interruptions sir.”</p><p>“Good. Well, shall we go in?”</p><p>Demarko opened the office door and held it. He and Lloyd had taken up Kane’s guard position on either side of the access, and it was Kane’s signal that he was an assistant once again. Lloyd still nodded at him though, as he followed Yaruka into the office, as he used to when they were both still guarding the door.</p><p>Unlike the mechanics’ office, this one was decked out for receiving clients or possible buyers. There was a wing-backed leather chair behind a heavy, ornate wooden desk. The floor was covered in a Persian carpet, baroquely patterned, and there were two matching leather receiving chairs facing the desk. These had been pushed back against a heavily burdened bookcase on the opposite wall from the desk, and in their place knelt Amara.</p><p>She had removed the long coveralls and farm jacket and was again in her borrowed mechanic shirt. She’d also slipped back into her cargo pants, which were still wet and making a damp spot on the expensive carpet. ‘<strong><em>Less skin to flay’</em></strong>, Kane thought with an internal grimace. Her black t-shirt she’s left to hang over the arm of one of the receiving chairs next to the folded coveralls and jacket.</p><p>“Amaranda. It is good to see you here. At least the girl knows where she is to be…eventually.” Yaruka clipped, crossing behind the desk. He sat in the wing-backed chair and Kane took up his post to the Noble’s left, back against the wall.</p><p>Amara said nothing. She had her hands clasped behind her back and her head down. Her braided hair hung limply down her back.</p><p>After a long pause Yaruka spoke without taking his eyes from the kneeling fighter. “Who was the Federalist pig who so easily infiltrated the ring?”</p><p>Kane knew the question was for him. “He’s a detective with Midtown FED sir. Name is Banner and he’s a relatively new transfer from Downtown, that’s why no one knew him.”</p><p>The Noble hummed under his breath and drummed his manicured fingers on the top of the desk. “Girl…when did you know there was a swine in Mr. Dominguez’s ring?”</p><p>Amara didn’t look up but she responded all the same. “Three days ago sire. He made a mistake and I heard him arguing with his partner. He forgot to wash the gun powder off his hands as well. That’s when I knew. I told Carlos—….Mr. Dominguez to check him out, but he didn’t believe me.”</p><p>Kane knew Amara wasn’t trying to play the blame game. She was just being honest, but he cringed for Carlos and his men anyway. He was going to have a lot of work to do to get back into the Noble's good graces after today.</p><p>“And why,” the noble continued, drumming his fingers still, “did you not rip this <em>detective Banner’s</em> throat out the second you knew what he was?”</p><p>Amara’s gaze snapped up to stare into the noble’s face at that. Kane’s own eyes found the back of Yaruka’s head in shock as well. <strong><em>Surely he couldn’t mean that. </em></strong></p><p>The fighter stared, lips slightly parted in shock, and when she finally spoke her first words were unsteady. “Your grace….I….this wasn’t in a fight, sire. The man was just….he was a FED, your grace, and dropping a body like that…..this wasn’t in a fight sir!”</p><p>Her voice had gone up at the end and Kane saw the escalation coming.</p><p>“And why,” the noble asked, rising from his chair with steel in his voice. “should that matter, dog!?”</p><p>He rounded the desk and stood imposingly over the kneeling fighter. Amara’s eyes had hardened and she stared boldfaced up into the noble’s eyes. <strong><em>Shit, this isn’t going to end well.</em></strong></p><p>Yaruka continued, “The man poses a threat and you let him walk away. Let the man live with all the information he needed. Why do you have teeth, dog, if not to kill eh?”</p><p>Kane saw the comment coming before it left her mouth. Glaring up at the man Amara spat, “I didn’t swear to kill for you, <em>your grace</em>! I didn’t sign up to be your assassin and we didn’t promise to shed blood for you fucking Nobles! You and the other high bread <em>kunya</em> seem to have forgotten that, <em>sire</em>!”</p><p>The backhand caught her full in the face and Amara’s whole body swayed to the left. Bent at the waist, she spat onto the carpet and when she raised her face to glare back at Yaruka Kane saw that her lip was split. Yaruka’s diamond ring now glittered crimson on his finger.</p><p>“You forget yourself girl!” Yaruka spat. His accent had gotten thicker in his anger. “And do not think that <em>I</em> have forgotten what other transgressions you have <em>wrought</em> today.”</p><p>The noble’s hand snatched out fast as a viper and gripped the fighter’s long tresses. His finger knotted at the base of her skull and Amara let out an involuntary grunt as she was yanked up by Yaruka’s punishing grip. “You know you are not to run unleashed!”</p><p>Spit flew from the man’s mouth as he yelled into Amara’s face. “In that <em>thick</em> skull of yours, you know you are a dog. And what is a dog without a collar or a leash, eh?! It is a stray. It is rabid. It should be put down. Are you a stray, dog?!?”</p><p>Yaruka’s other hand came down to grasp the fighter’s bruised ribs. He pressed in hard, and Kane had to grit his teeth as he heard her suck in a loud wince. He could almost see where the bones ground together and threatened to splinter under Yaruka’s claw-like grip.</p><p>“No!...Ah!....I…I didn’t have a choice! There was SWAT everywhere and…Ah!”</p><p>Yaruka’s thumb pressed in harder. “I did not ask for excuses, dog! I asked, ‘are you a stray’?!?”</p><p>“NO!…no….. I’m sorry your grace! I am not a stray, sire. I am your dog. I belong to Susumu Yaruka!” Amara bit out with a grimace. Kane didn’t know if it was because of the words she spoke or because of the pain.</p><p>It was a memorized phrase. <em>‘I am your dog. I belong to Susumu Yaruka’. </em>Kane had heard her say it a hundred times, and every time Yaruka stopped the pain. Every time the fighter grit out those words whatever torture the noble had dealt out ceased, and Amara was allowed to lick her wounds, and Kane was allowed to unclench his fists. It had come more quickly and more easily to her over the years. Like the resistance was finally starting to go out of her and she finally recognized who she belonged to. Like her pride had finally fallen below her will to stay in one piece. Every time, those words were enough to pacify the noble.</p><p>But not this time.</p><p>Kane felt the blood leech out of his face and tasted bile on the back of his tongue when he heard the all-encompassing ‘<em>Crunch</em>’ that filled the room. Like a green twig, her rib folded and snapped under Yaruka’s hand. Amara’s face went white and she gaged on a chocked off scream. She stared out with wide, agony filled eyes. One hand grasped at each of Yaruka’s wrists to try and stop the pain. There was shock in her expression as well and Kane related to that shock on a cellular level. Yaruka had never done this before, not after she’d said the words.</p><p>The noble released her side and she sank back to the floor, ass hitting the carpet between her heels. Her arms tucked in and shoulders folded in on themselves. Kane didn’t realize that he’d taken a step away from the wall until the Noble spoke again, drawing his attention away from the broken dog at his feet.</p><p>“Good. You are a foolish girl, but not stupid.” He said, voice returning back to its controlled and even clip. His right hand, which was still at her head, ran almost lovingly through her hair now, the fingers pushing loose strands behind her ear. He bent to one knee and cupped Amara’s face with both hands almost tenderly, drawing her face up, forcing her to make eye contact.</p><p>“You will <em>never</em> speak to me like that again, understand girl?”</p><p>Amara gave an almost unperceivable nod and sagged slightly into the noble’s hold. Her right hand clutched at her side, to her freshly broken rib, but her left came up to brush her fingers against Yaruka’s forearm.</p><p>She wasn’t trying to push him away. She never tried to push him away or defend herself in any way. Such was her devotion to her pledge, and to this day Kane was still amazed at her commitment.</p><p>No, she was only making contact. Like a physical anchor to keep the fighter’s mind upon the words spoken. Like this, and if Kane could have erased the last few minutes from his memory, they almost looked like family. Like a father comforting his ailing, adopted daughter, and the image turned the assistant’s stomach.</p><p>Kane’s lips drew into a tight line and pressed together hard. For some reason the Noble’s false kindness after the cruelty always confused and aggravated the assistant. The man was powerful and rich. Being his assistant opened up doors to Kane that he’d never even dreamed of, but in moments like this, his admiration for the man was torn to sunder by his disdain for his brutality. His ire rose from annoyance to anger as the noble stroked his thumb across Amara’s cheekbone, and Kane had to resist the urge to spit.</p><p>Yaruka continued in a voice that held a parody of sympathy, “And you will never run unleashed again. Today was unfortunate…and I am aware that not all of the blame is yours to bear my pet. But you will learn, dog, that you belong to me. And what is mine shall not fail me.”</p><p>With that he rose and straightened his suit jacket. Amara was left to list to the side and catch herself with her left forearm. Yaruka turned to Kane and addressed him as if there wasn’t blood seeping into his Persian carpet.</p><p>“I will be heading back to the office now Mr. Godsden. Please inform Mr. Dominguez that I would like to speak with him personally upon our next interaction. If you would please, take Amaranda back to the penthouse. I trust Misa already has my adjusted schedule?”</p><p>At Kane’s mute nod he adjusted his sleeve and turned his ruby cuff links. He then pulled a crimson pocket square from his breast pocket to wipe the blood from his ring. “Good, then I will not need you to rejoin me for the rest of the day.” He glanced to where Amara was attempting to sit up at a snail’s pace and said, “Dr. Michaelson should be contacted as well.”</p><p>And just like that, the sire of Midtown swept from the room and down the hall. Demarko was hot on his heels but Lloyd paused where he held the door. His eyes locked with Kane’s where he still stood frozen behind the desk, and then his gaze fell to the damaged fighter on the office floor. She’d gotten herself upright, but was panting and sweating from the effort. Her normally pale skin was even grayer than usual and a green tinge laced her cheeks. She still clutched at her side, which was already steadily turning an even darker shade of purple than it had been when she’d entered the office.</p><p>Lloyd’s jaw twitched, eyes drew down, and Kane thought he would say something. He didn’t though, just closed the door with more force than strictly necessary and sped down the hall to catch up with the Asian noble.</p><p>Kane was by her side before the fogged glass in the door had stopped rattling in its frame. She was shaking and cursing as he braced an arm behind her back to support some of her weight.</p><p>“Fuck, fuck, <em>fuck </em>that smarts!” she panted out.</p><p>Kane, uncaring at this point about awkwardness, slide behind her and brought her back against his chest. He leaned her to the left slightly and ran his left arm under her armpit and across her chest. He gripped her opposite shoulder and lifted slightly. It took most of her weight off her injured side and she leaned back against him more solidly once she figured out what he was doing.</p><p>Kane didn’t say anything; <em>couldn’t</em> say anything. He just sat there, holding her up as her breathing slowed and her shaking quieted. After a few moments, her head came back to rest against his shoulder like she just couldn’t care to keep it up anymore. Another minute passed and the fighter finally broke the silence.</p><p>“Well….that was new.” </p><p>Kane just let out a puffing breath that shook.</p><p>“I guess...I probably should have seen that coming. Marcus is right; I’ve got too much pride for my own good. Sooner or later he was bound to get tired of my bullshit.”</p><p>Her voice was soft, but strained beside Kane’s ear. The assistant had to swallow around a suddenly tight throat, and coughed to clear it. <strong><em>Jesus</em></strong>, he thought to himself. <strong><em>Just….holy shit. What the fuck just happened?</em></strong></p><p>Yaruka had never done something like that before, at least not that casually. Punishments were dealt out, yes, but usually in complete privacy and never after an apology. Never after Amara had bent the knee. Something big had changed just now, and whatever it was, it had opened up a door that Kane wasn’t sure could ever be closed again. If this was the new status quo, where the fighter could be penalized at any time for any offense regardless of location or excuses, then Kane didn’t know what that meant for him as an assistant, or as a man. And for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to the injured fighter in his arms.</p><p>“….I’m sorry.” He finally whispered out.</p><p>“What for? Not your fault I’ve got a loudmouth.” Her left hand came up and she used the back of it to dap at her split lip. She wiped the blood on the carpet beside Kane’s thigh, where it rested beside her own.</p><p>“It’s just…. It’s hard sometimes to remember what we promised, and why. And I find myself forgetting…. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the Nobles are as well. Fucking hell Kane….I just—”</p><p>She cut herself off and Kane squeezed her shoulder lightly, trying to give her some sort of reassurance. She never talked about her past openly, and she specifically avoided talking about the event that made her what she was. The promise that put her in the pits and, by extension, in Kane’s lap with a broken rib at the moment. It was a rare moment of vulnerability and the assistant knew that the fragility of it could be shattered with one wrong word.</p><p>She shook her head on his shoulder and Kane felt her take a shallow breath.</p><p>“Sorry man, not your problem. I shouldn’t be bitching to you. I’m just…. I’m just really fucking tired.”</p><p>And that right there told Kane just how out of it she really was. Amara, tough as nails Amara who shook off broken bones and joked through no anesthetic sutures, was tired. Marcus’ earlier words rang in Kane’s ear. <strong><em>‘I don’t know how much longer she can keep goin’ like this.</em></strong>’</p><p>He needed to get her back to the penthouse, and soon. Dr. Michaelson needed to take a look at her and Kane…. Well, Kane needed a stiff drink.</p><p>“It’s ok. Let’s just get you up alright?”</p><p>She blew out an even breathe and raised the back of her neck off his collarbone. “Yeah, no problem. Just, uh…”</p><p>She shifted her weight forward and tried to gather her legs under her. Her right arm was held protectively to her side and her other hand was braced against Kane’s knee to push herself up. She grunted with the effort and Kane saw her shoulders twitch.</p><p>Kane had his arm back around her chest and the other across the front of her hips before her ass was six inches off the floor. “Let me help, ok?” he all but whispered.</p><p>He pulled her torso back against his chest and, using only his leg muscles, stood them both up. With her legs dangling and her hips held tight against his lower belly her ribs barely moved. He was taller than her by a little over six inches, so her toes lightly scraped the carpet as he clutched her to his front. She was a compact little thing, like a sack of potatoes with an attitude. Kane didn’t even feel a strain on his back.</p><p>“Well…that was impressive.” She said with genuine surprise. The hand that had been on his knee now grasped his forearm for stability. </p><p>Kane barked out a laugh but was careful not to jostle her. “Ha! See? Not so bad. I <em>do</em> work out you know.”</p><p>Her hair, even still damp from the rain, smelled like something wild where it lay between her back and Kane’s sternum. Kane breathed it in.</p><p>“Yeah, I figured as much… So, you gonna let me down?”</p><p>Kane didn’t realize he’d still been holding her aloft, and a blush caught fire on his face. He gently lowered her to her feet and, despite his embarrassment, released her gradually. When her ribs held her weight, he backed away from her a good three paces quickly.</p><p>He cleared his throat awkwardly and, turning his back to her, walked over to grab her clothes from the receiving chair. When he turned to face her again she had a bemused smile on her face.</p><p>Surprisingly, rather than commenting, she just held out the arm on her good side for the clothes.</p><p>Kane cleared his throat again. Despite her smile she still looked cold, and wet…and hurt. “Don’t worry about it. I got this. Here.”</p><p>He slid the left sleeve of the old farmer’s jacket on to her still extended arm and settled the other half over her shoulder. He didn’t want to take the chance of aggravating her ribs by putting her arm through the sleeve.</p><p>“Now at least you won’t catch your death.”</p><p>The fighter fingered the lapel of the jacket, breathing in and closing her eyes for a moment. “Thanks man.” She murmured quietly, and Kane felt a sudden urge to hug her. He gave himself a mental shake. Injured as she was she could still rip his arms off one-handed, and holding her again would probably get him just that treatment. To distract his itching hands, he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a message to Misa, Yaruka’s personal receptionist, and to the doctor. When he looked back up Amara was pulling her damp hair from under the collar of the jacket, and adjusting her own collar as well. Her fingers lightly drummed on the thick silver buckle.</p><p>Kane’s phone buzzed with a reply. He read it and then pocketed the device. </p><p>“Alright, let’s go. Dr. Michealson is going to meet us at the penthouse.” He said, heading for the door. He held it open for the fighter and she followed without even a hitch in her step. Her arm was still tucked to her side, but if you didn’t read the bags under her eyes or the tightness of her mouth as anything more than exhaustion, she looked like nothing had happened.</p><p>She was good at that; hiding her injuries from prying eyes. It would have to be a necessity for a dog, Kane thought, the ability to hide in plain sight. Without it she’d have every Good Samaritan and patrolling FED officer rushing to her aid 24-7, trying to figure out who to incarcerate for hurting her.</p><p>“Oh goody.” She replied sarcastically, walking beside the assistant down the hall toward the parking lot. After a pause she continued, “Shit, he’s gonna be pissed at me. He told me last week to lay off the broken bones. He says my ‘calcium levels’ aren’t doing well.”</p><p>Kane glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows drawn together and fishing his keys out of his pocket.</p><p>“What the hell does that mean? Like you’re not drinking enough milk or something?” he asked with genuine curiosity.</p><p>“No, Mr. Valedictorian.” She stated flatly as he held open the door leading outside. The rain had stopped at last, but a fine mist still hung in the air. “Your bones are made up of calcium. When you sustain repeated damage to bones, blastocyst…”</p><p>She trailed off at Kane’s look of complete confusion. He unlocked the car and the front doors slid up at his touch on the passenger handle. “The fuck is that?” he asked, eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Big fixing cells Kane. Try to keep up.”</p><p>He huffed out a breath but helped her into the passage seat anyway. There was a brief moment where her jaw ticked as she bent her legs to slide them under the glove box that Kane cursed his compact vehicle. It wasn’t even his technically, just an assistant’s car for Yaruka’s office. Amara grit through the pain though, with barely a twitch, and let out only a stiff breath as she settled in the seat. </p><p>“They break down and build up tissues and bone,” she continued. “If you break a lot of bones they start to break down more than they build up.”</p><p>Kane rounded the hood of the car and got behind the wheel. He pressed his thumb to the dash and the doors hissed shut as the engine rumbled to life. “Ok, well that’s useless information to me.” He stated, pulling the car into gear and hearing the air turbines begin to whine. “Why would I remember it? And I’ll have you know I <em>was</em> the valedictorian, thank you very much.”</p><p>The car lifted effortlessly into the air and Kane pulled out onto the main road. “Oh, of course you were.” Amara rolled her head on the neck rest to face him as she responded sarcastically. “But you still don’t know what a blastocyst is.”</p><p>Kane’s hands tightened on the wheel and he sent her a glare out of the corner of his eye. He kept his focus on the road though. Midtown was still slow going for all the people walking and he was taking the journey cautiously, waiting for the pedestrians to clear the street. “And how do you know what that is?” he bit back in annoyance. “Did you even go to school?”</p><p>“No.” she replied simply, and the ire drained out of Kane. He slapped himself mentally. <strong><em>Of course she hasn’t been to college you genius</em></strong><em>, </em>the berated himself.</p><p>A lame, “Oh…” was all he could come up with in response. There was an awkward thirty seconds where all that could be heard was the whine of the turbines and the slosh of the downdraft on the wet asphalt. </p><p>Surprisingly, Amara was the one to break the silence.</p><p>“I was finishing up secondary school when….” She trailed off awkwardly, but she didn’t need to finish the statement. He knew what had happened. Everyone in the business did. After a moment he decided to try and pull her from the past. Her eyes had taken on a faraway and dismal look out the window, and Kane didn’t like it. </p><p>“So…” he asked, “how do you know what a blastocyst is?”</p><p>She snorted out a laugh and her eyes cut to him. “I read Kane. I read whenever I can.”</p><p>His eyebrows rose toward his hairline and he glanced over to her before putting his eyes back on the road.</p><p>“What,” she said in response to his surprise. “did you think I spent all my time fighting or in the med bay?”</p><p>It was Kane’s turn to snort as he turned off toward Downtown. “Well, yeah to be honest.” He responded. “That and hanging out at the garage.”</p><p>“I do that a lot too.”</p><p>“Why do you like it there so much?” he asked with sincere interest. He’d always wondered.</p><p>“Reminds me of home I guess.” She said, glancing out the window again. “My grandfather used to be a mechanic. Classic rides, none of the hyped-up hover shits that are everywhere now. He worked on Corvettes and old muscle cars mostly. Mustangs, Impalas, Chargers….” she paused for a moment before continuing. “He had this El Camino that he drove around in. We found it rusted out in a hayfield when I was six. Took forever to get it running but once we did… he never drove anything else if he could help it.”</p><p>Kane was silent for a few moments. That was the most he’d ever heard her speak about her family. Hell, it was probably the most he’d ever heard her speak in one sentence when she wasn’t pissed or reading someone’s soul.</p><p>As much as the assistant and the fighter interacted, and as much as she liked to pull his tail, she never really actually <em>said</em> much now that Kane thought about it. Nothing important at least, and never anything about herself.</p><p>“He sounds like a good guy.” He finally responded. And he really did. Kane could just see it now in his mind’s eye. A little Amara, minus the heinous scar tissue, elbow-deep in engine grease and smiling up at an old man with the same eyes as her.</p><p>Amara had gone quiet, and she finally breathed out a soft, “Yeah.” in response.</p><p>Something had changed in the air between them, though Kane didn’t know what. He tried to continue the conversation regardless of the dark feeling anyway. They’d been having a moment there, and despite himself, Kane grasped to get it back.</p><p>“So what does he do now?” he asked, glancing over at Amara who was still staring out the window.“I haven’t seen an actual car in years.”</p><p>When she didn’t respond he kicked himself mentally. <strong><em>Idiot, she probably hasn’t seen him in over four years.</em></strong> “Or do you know?” he amended, thinking it was her lack of knowledge that was keeping her silent. “I mean I’ve never heard about you having a family, but Noble Banes’ fighter visits his family every once in a while. I think they live in Flushing.” He was rambling and he knew it. “I could maybe set up a visit if you—”</p><p>“He’s dead Kane.” She cut him off mid-sentence.</p><p>Kane fell silent. After a beat, she continued, “Cancer. Got him back in ‘48”</p><p>Doing the math in his head, Kane said, “But wasn’t that—”</p><p>“Right before they found the cure?” she cut him off again. “Yeah, six and a half months before to be exact. Life’s a bitch, right?”</p><p>There was bitterness in her voice. Biting his tongue, Kane cursed himself again internally. Glancing at her in the passage seat, he found nothing in her face, but he had heard the whisper of pain in that statement.</p><p>Kane did some mental math again. “So you were what, 18? 19?” he asked, trying to break the tension.</p><p>“Ha!” she barked out a laugh and then winced as she grasped her side. “Don’t make me laugh asshole! No. How old do you think I am?”</p><p>Kane’s brows drew together in confusion. “What?” he asked, turning onto Main Street. “If he died in ’48 and you’re, what 26, 27 now? Then you would have been….” He trailed off and glanced in her direction. She had an eyebrow raised and the corner of her mouth was twisted up in a small smile. “I was 13 when he died.” She relied with a slight chuckle. </p><p>Kane’s head whipped in her direction before he hastily returned his gaze to the road. “Wait, what?” he asked in utter confusion.</p><p>“I’m 21 Kane.” She replied with a full, if breathy, laugh this time.</p><p>“You’re what?!”</p><p>Kane couldn’t believe it. There was no way she was that much younger than him! Sure, he knew she was young to be in the pits, or in this business at all for that matter. He himself was only 27; but he had been sure she was, at most, only a year or two behind him in life. Kane felt suddenly, and unsettlingly, old.</p><p>“I’m 21. Or at least I think I’m 21. Haven’t really been keeping track the last few years.” She replied with a shrug. Kane paused to let that sink in and to pull into the entrance of the below-ground parking deck of McCartney Tower.</p><p>“So you’re telling me that you might not even be of legal drinking age yet?! That’s…” Kane trailed off and shook his head. He pulled into the high ceilinged parking deck and killed the engine. As the car slowly glided back to earth he ran a hand through his hair. “21… wow.” Something dawned on him and he looked hastily to her with his hands raised in apology. “Hey, I didn’t mean to say you look old or any—”</p><p>“It's fine, man.” She said, cutting him off with a slight head shake. She seemed to be doing that a lot today.</p><p>“I get it.” She held up a tattered forearm to the yellow light of the parking deck and a feral smile light her face; the scar on her lip once again pulling her expression into a sneering grimace.  “These age you a little bit.”</p><p>Kane swallowed and resisted the urge to shiver. When the car touched down completely he pressed the door open button for both sides, extracted himself from behind the steering column hastily, and rounded the hood to help Amara out of her seat.</p><p>Taking her good hand, he helped to pull her to her feet. Once he was sure she wasn’t going fall on her face he closed and locked the car, imprinting his fingerprint on the driver's side handle to let the system know he was still the primary driver.</p><p>Something occurred to him then, and as he and the fighter walked toward the access elevator he said, “Wait, you said you <em>think </em>you’re 21? So you don’t even know your own birthday? How the fuck is that possible? Doesn’t Yaruka know it?”</p><p>He pressed the lobby button and as the doors slid shut she glanced up at him from where she leaned against the opposite wall. “I honestly don’t know. If he does he hasn’t shared it with the class. Last time I remember celebrating it was when I turned 16.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, that right!” Kane exclaimed, snapping his fingers in recognition. “You’re southern aren’t you? Don’t you guys have some kind of ceremony or something to give women away?”</p><p>Amara was off the wall in a half second and slugging him in the bicep, hard, with her good arm in the next.</p><p>“Ow! What the hell was that for?!”Kane shouted, rubbing his arm and meeting her pissed off gaze.</p><p>“For being an ignorant prick!” she bit out, turning to the doors just as they opened. She marched ahead of him through the lobby and right past the security clerk at the front desk, who didn’t even bat an eye, just pressed the buzzer to call the main elevator.</p><p>The elevator gave a soft ‘ding’ and she stalked through those doors too. Kane shook his head and gave a knowing glance to the clerk, who smiled back and gave an acknowledging nod. She waited until they had begun their long ascent up to the 124<sup>th</sup> floor before she continued. “No, we do not ‘<em>give away women’</em>!” she sarcastically spat, making air quotes with her left hand. “It’s an anointing ceremony. For us, the family name and clan come from your <em>mother’s</em> line. It’s a coming of age for the women who will carry on the clan name. You also take your first hunt. Does that sound like some misogynistic bullshit to you?”</p><p>Kane sat back at that and raised both eyebrows in surprise. If it wouldn’t have been completely embarrassing, he would have held up his hands to ward off her biting tone. “Oh.” Was all he could come up with.</p><p>“Yeah, <em>oh</em>!”</p><p>The car was quiet for a while. Amara was still simmering and Kane was processing, feeling soundly rebuffed. After a minute he finally cleared his throat and said carefully, “Sorry… I had no idea.”</p><p>Amara sighed and leaned back against the elevator wall again. “It’s ok. It just so happens that in old deep south high society there was something called a ‘debutant’ where they presented girls to the community at 16 too. And that <em>was</em> more or less a ‘Hey, look who’s ready to be courted!’ ceremony. The two get confused a lot.”</p><p>Kane nodded in relieved understanding. <strong><em>Must be frustrating to have no one know anything about your culture</em></strong>, he thought to himself, crossing his arms and leaning against the opposite wall facing the fighter. Having to explain everything about yourself to people who just didn’t get it probably contributed to Amara’s salty mood more often than not, and Kane finally understood a small fraction of that frustration. Going forward he figured an open acknowledgment of his own ignorance was probably the best course of action.  </p><p>“So you’re like, the head of your clan now? To be honest I’ve never met another southerner, so I have no idea. I didn’t even know you <em>had</em> clans. I’ve only ever heard of the tribes.”</p><p>Amara snorted and rolled her head back.“No….No, I’m not the head of my clan.” She said with a mirthless chuckle and shook her head. Her gaze rested on a middle space between them and Kane waited on her to finish. “My clan is dead.” She finally said as she looked up to meet his gaze.</p><p>Kane frowned at that. “So no one’s left? No one at all?” he questioned. Southerners were rare, sure, but for a whole family to die out?</p><p>The fighter just shook her head without saying anything, then twisted her chin up to crack her neck on both sides.</p><p>“Hell,” she said after that. “I don’t even know if there’s anyone in my <em>tribe</em> left.” Her head fell back to rest against the smooth chrome wall. She closed her eyes and almost whispered, “It’s been so long since….” She trailed off without finishing the statement and Kane didn’t know if he’d ever seen her look more tired.</p><p>“That’s depressing as shit Amara.” He said in reply, because it was. Kane knew nothing about clans or tribes, but he did know about family. He pictured his mother and sister; his aunt and cousins, and a shudder ran through him at the idea of them all disappearing.</p><p>Amara didn’t even open her eyes. “Things die Kane,” she said flatly and with knowing finality. “even families. It’s just part of life.”</p><p>“Still, you must miss them.”</p><p>The fighter shrugged at that. She took a measured breath and settled more firmly against the wall. They fell into a comfortable, if heavy, silence of the rest of the ride. As they exited the gilded elevator, a question downed on Kane and he couldn’t help but ask, “When was the last time you were even in the south anyway?”</p><p>She cocked an eyebrow at him and then preceded him down the hallway. “Shit man, I don’t know. Must have been….” She trailed off and then stopped dead in her tracks and rounded on him. “You know what? Forget it. Why do you even want to know?”</p><p>She bit the question out with genuine annoyance this time and Kane could tell her patience for his inquisition was wearing thin. Kane couldn’t help but throw her earlier words back at her though.</p><p>“ ‘Just curious I guess’.” He said, smirking smile on his face, and Amara rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Touché.” She said with a smirk of her own in response.</p><p>Kane just shook his head and marveled at her as she walked away. Today he’d found out more about the little fighter than he had in the past two years of knowing her. Whether it was the bust this morning or the altercation with Yaruka at the garage that had shaken the foundation of their relationship, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he kind of liked, and simultaneously loathed the newfound information. Knowing her more personally was going to make it easier to work with her, he knew. The small hints he had into the basis of her outlook on things would make his job a hell of a lot stress-free and SNAFUs easier to forestall. And if Kane was being honest with himself, he’d always been intrigued by the scarred women who he knew so little about. It was, however, also going to make it harder for him to watch her bleed and pretend like he didn’t feel anything. <strong><em>Shit</em></strong>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six: The Penthouse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yaruka’s penthouse was opulent, yet tasteful. Unlike a few other Nobel’s dwellings that she’d been to, it wasn’t dripping in gold and jewels. The polished black door opened to a small step down where one’s shoes could be removed. A leftover from the noble’s Asian heritage, he abhorred the idea of wearing shoes inside his home. The floors were a dark polished oak which matched the white bamboo and black marble furniture. A large living room, with its rarely used entertainment center and white calfskin couches, opened into a chrome and tile kitchen. To the right was a dark anteroom with high bookcases lining the walls and two comfortable reading chairs facing a gas fireplace. The left wall was made entirely of glass windows looking out across the Downtown skyline. In the fading light of the evening the city looked almost beautiful. The way the sunset hit the smog painted the glass and steel a myriad of oranges and reds that almost sparkled in the half-light.</p><p>Waiting in the kitchen, and helping himself to a sandwich of some kind, was Dr. Gabriel Michaelson. His white coat lay abandoned across the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, but he still had his stethoscope slung around his neck. As the door closed behind them, he looked up and mumbled an acknowledging hum through his full mouth and raised a hand in greeting. The hand fell down to brush bread crumbs off his navy polo shirt which read <em>Uptown Clinton Memorial Hospital</em> in white piping. He set his sandwich down and rounded the bar, walking toward them just as Kane let out a cheerful, “Hey Doc! Thanks for showing up late notice.”</p><p>The doctor swallowed and replied, “No problem. I was wrapping up for the day anyway. So, what’s the story champ?”</p><p>Amara didn’t bother responding. She was too busy trying to work up the energy to reach down and unlace her boots. Putting them on in the office had been interesting enough while tired and with bruised ribs. Now she was exhausted and at least one of those ribs was broken. She took a measured breath and began to lean down. She made it about six inches before saying ‘<strong><em>fuck it’</em></strong> and just plopping down on the entrance step. She crossed one ankle across the opposite knee and reached for the laces, trying and failing to suppress a wince. Dr. Michaelson was crouched by her side, stethoscope already in his ears, and Kane was on his knees in front of her in an instant. The fighter gave up her valiant effort with the shoes and allowed the assistant to unlace them for her. She leaned back against the door frame as he slid off first the right boot, then the left, setting them beside his own black dress shoes on the rack beside the door.</p><p>The doctor pushed the stethoscope under her borrowed jacket and shirt and pressed the diaphragm to the left side of her chest. His other hand came up to grasp her shoulder in a gentle hold. He listened intently for a moment, then moved the diaphragm under the back of her shirt and pressed it below her right scapula. “This is gonna hurt like a bitch honey, but I’m going to need you to take a deep breath.”</p><p>Amara closed her eyes and inhaled obediently. He was right. It did hurt like a bitch, and Amara bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a groan. After a few more harrowing breaths the doctor removed the stethoscope with a short nod and draped it around his neck once again.</p><p>“Well, good news is nothing’s punctured. Let’s get you moved to the couch so I can take a look at those ribs.”</p><p>He stood and offered up a hand. He wasn’t a tall man, a little less than five-seven, and his build was that of a man who spent most of his time behind a desk. His hands were also small and delicate…for a man at least. An asset in surgery, for sure, but not a sight that inspired faith in his ability to keep Amara off her ass. He wasn’t scrawny, but the fighter was still relieved when Kane rose wordlessly to do the same on her opposite side. She reached up to grasp both their hands and pulled herself up. Kane surprised her then by ducking under her arm and draping it across his shoulders. His right arm came to rest around her waist and he boosted her up onto the living room floor. The fighter decided against commenting though. After his ‘Prince Charming’ routine in the garage office, she supposed she shouldn’t have been shocked by his help.</p><p>They hobbled over the plush couch while the doctor went to the kitchen to wash his hands and Amara sank into its soft embrace with a relieved sigh. Kane sat beside her and took her jacket wordlessly when she shucked it off. Dr. Michaelson, returning from the kitchen, pushed the large ottoman that rested in front of the couch closer with a well-placed kick and sat back on it facing her.“Alright,” he said scooting closer. “shirt off, and raise your arm up above your head.”</p><p>Amara, thanking Katuwa that she had stolen a button-up shirt, reached for the small clasps and began to undo them. Kane looked away sharply and rose to quickly round the couch. He hung the old jacket on the back of one of the bar stools and continued to look anywhere but in the direction of the couch. Amara rolled her eyes and shrugged the shirt off her shoulders. She was wearing a breast band for Christ’s sake, and it wasn’t like she was worried about him catching a look, even if she wasn’t. She was a dog, not a woman, and not a sexual object in any way. She still found it ridiculous that the assistant could forget that fact. The reminder was right there around her neck.</p><p>The fighter dutifully raised her arm up and rested her forearm across the top of her head, stretching out her injured flank. The doctor turned his head to take in her black and purple side and whistled between his teeth. “Damn,” he said, eyebrows drawing together. “That looks worse than it did two days ago. What the hell happened?”</p><p>He reached out and began to gently probe around the ribs, finding the break quickly and the fighter let out a pained grunt. He glanced up at her face, something close to concern in the lines around his eyes, and then continued his exam. When Amara didn’t respond to the question Kane spoke from where he leaned against the kitchen island. “One of the rings got busted today by the FED. Amara had to get away and well…” he trailed off.</p><p>“I had to run alone.” Amara finally spoke, finishing the statement for the assistant. Gabriel looked up sharply at that, and then rose to retrieve his medical bag which rested beside his coat on the bar countertop. He returned with the bag and pulled out medical tape, an ice pack, and a small device that unfolded into a screen and produced a purplish glow. “So, what? Did you have to jump off a building or something?” he asked, passing the device over her flank. Fractured bone and contusioned muscle shone through on his side of the portable x-ray. After a few passes and a decisive nod he pocketed the device and began unrolling the tape and applying it to her skin. “No” she answered as he worked. “Yaruka found out, and well…you know how he is about unsupervised dogs.”</p><p>Amara spoke to the far wall, but she felt the two men make eye contact over her shoulder. Gabriel shook his head and applied the last bit of tape. He pressed the ice pack to her ribs gently, and then guided her back with a hand on her shoulder to rest against the back of the couch. She took the ice pack with her good hand and left the other arm above her head.</p><p>“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news peach blossom. Good news is only one rib’s broken and the one above it is only fractured. Bad news is it’s probably going to take twice as long to heal.” The doctor closed his bag and stood, running a hand through his golden hair. Looking at her, he continued. “I want you to come in tomorrow for a proper scan. It doesn’t sound like anything’s ruptured and I didn’t see a bleed, but I want to check you over for any slow internal hemorrhages just to be sure. With your luck sweetie, it never hurts to be too careful. And before you ask, no” he cut her off with her mouth half-open in question. “I am <em>not</em> going to give you another marrow stimulant.”</p><p>He walked over to Kane and, pulling his prescription pad from the pocket of his white coat, scribbled out something rapidly before tearing off the scrip and handing it to the taller man.</p><p>“If the pain gets worse, get this filled and have her take two. And if Yaruka gives you any trouble about coming in tomorrow tell him to give me a call. The man pays me well, but not well enough to keep fixing the same damn thing over and over again.”</p><p>“Doc, you think she’ll <em>actually</em> tell me if the pain gets worse?” the assistant asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically.</p><p>The doctor let out a short laugh and replied, “Ha! No, she probably won’t. Best get that filled anyway then.” The shorter man began to pack up his things and Amara raised her back slowly off the couch to glare over her shoulder at the two men. “Hey! I’m still here, and I can hear both you assholes just fine. And come on Gabe, one more stimulant isn’t gonna kill me.”</p><p>The doctor looked at her disapprovingly and walked back over to push her back against the white cushions. “No,” he said tersely above her. “it won’t kill you. It’ll just put you into calcium deficiency and anemia. You know as well as I do what abusing repairing stimulants can do. I’m sorry gumdrop, but you’re cut off until everything has a chance to heal naturally.”</p><p>With that he gathered his bag and coat and headed for the door. Over his shoulder he said, “Sorry to patch up and run, but I’ve got to get home or the wife will have my head. Call me if anything changes and keep that ice on for twenty minutes.” Flicking his coat over his shoulder he added, “And tell Yaruka thanks for the sandwich! Now I don’t have to lie about being full to avoid the Mrs.’s cooking. See you later pudding!” and with a wave he was out the door.</p><p>As he swept through the door Amara called after him, “Stop calling me shit like that Doc! You know I hate those stupid nicknames!” in forged annoyance. She heard his laugh and responding, “Not a chance sugar plumb!” from down the hall.</p><p>In his wake Amara smiled. Dr. Michaelson was a good guy. Funny, in his own way, and good at his job. She could tell he actually cared about his patients, and it made the fighter sad at times when he had to be pulled away from them to tend to her. How the little surgeon had landed in Yaruka’s grasp she had no clue, but she couldn’t help but be selfishly glad that he had. Other doctors had treated her before, when she had first fallen under the sire of Midtown’s ownership. Doctors who saw her as nothing more than a body to keep moving. They didn’t even speak to her, preferring to deal solely with the noble and pretending that they couldn’t hear her scream. Doctors like the butcher who had cut her that first month…</p><p>Amara shut that thought process down. It would do no good to put herself down that rabbit hole before she inevitably knocked out for the rest of the day. Nightmares and memories didn’t come to her often anymore, but she had found that they came more potently when she’d been <em>reminiscent</em>, and she’d been very reminiscent today.</p><p>She heard rattling coming from the kitchen and the unmistakable sound of ice tinkling into a glass. “You want something to drink?” Kane asked, and Amara heard a cabinet open.</p><p>“Nah, I’m good.”</p><p>She heard more rattling and then the refrigerator door open. “Making yourself at home Kane?” she asked over the back of the couch, an eyebrow raised that he couldn’t see.</p><p>“Hey, you heard him back at the garage. I’m off for the rest of the night. I’ve got nothing else to do besides babysit your ass and it’s been a long fucking day. Besides, sandwich stuff is already out.” He threw back from the kitchen.</p><p>Amara snorted out a chuckle at that and settled more deeply into the couch. The ice and tape were doing their job and for the first time that day she felt like she could relax.“Point taken.” She responded. Goose flesh was developing on her chest above the breast band from the ice, so for her comfort and Kane’s, whenever he returned from whatever the hell he was doing in the kitchen, she pulled the mechanic’s shirt across her front as a makeshift blanket. Now at least the assistant wouldn’t act like a stuttering prom date in the backseat for the first time. Resettling, she felt her eyes droop a little. </p><p>“Doesn’t really matter anyway” she continued, trying to keep herself awake. “He never actually eats here. I think he just keeps that kitchen stocked so that if people come over they don’t think he’s a god damn robot.”</p><p>Kane rounded the couch then and set two plates with sandwiches on them on the ottoman. “Which is exactly why I’m not worried about it.” He said patronizingly, sitting down on the other side of the couch. Before she could reach for the food— or tell him to go fuck himself— he picked up her plate and deposited it in her lap. “Eat.” He commanded, and then tucked into his own sandwich with gusto. </p><p>Amara glanced at the sandwich, pleased and slightly touched to see the absence of deli meat. The man pricked at her patience at times, but the fact that he remembered things, like that she didn’t eat meat, was one of the aspects of his personality that kept the fighter from knocking his front teeth in on those days. That, and that he never even flinched at sitting down next to her, as long as she was clothed, unarmed, and with his guard down. It was probably stupid, and that kind of cavalier attitude might very well get him killed one day, but it was still nice.</p><p>He didn’t throw her cautious glances every few minutes and he didn’t ogle at her scars. At least not anymore. Amara still remembers those first few months of his employ. Like every other pup guard that lasted long enough to be trusted with the knowledge of her existence, he’d stared at her as one would stare at a murder scene. Sick fascination mixed with awe and disgust, with an undertone of curiosity and not being able to look away. But not anymore. At some point without either of them noticing he’d just began to <em>look </em>at her, not stare. He’d also told her on more than one occasion that he had ‘<em>Resigned himself to the fact that you could tie me and every other guard Yaruka’s got on the payroll into a pretzel’ </em>long ago and no longer felt the need to keep up the pretense of suspicion<em>. </em></p><p>“<em>I’ve seen you fight Amara</em>” he’d told her once. “<em>Seen it more than I’d have liked to. I know that if you wanted to, really wanted to, you could be out that door in two seconds with me left to drool into the carpet and there is nothing I could do to stop you</em>.”</p><p>She supposed he was right, on some days, but right now she wasn’t so sure. Taking a bit out of her sandwich, the first food she’d had all day, and pressing the ice pack more firmly into her side Amara thought quietly to herself that it wouldn’t take much to put her down just now. She felt pathetic and weak. Leaning on everyone around her and running around like a frightened rabbit. Today she had not been herself. She’d been soft when she should have been steel, and it annoyed the hell out of her. She should pull herself out of it; get her shit together and start acting like the dog she was. But she was tired, sore, and starving, though the sandwich was doing a lot to remedy that, and in that moment Amara just couldn’t bring herself to care. </p><p>They finished their meal in companionable silence, and when Kane went to the kitchen with their plates he returned with a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid.</p><p>“You’re raiding the man’s liquor cabinet now?” Amara asked incredulously. “That’s ballsy of you.”</p><p>Taking a long swallow he responded, “Hey, you’re dead on your feet. I’m surprised you haven’t passed out already, and I need to make a few calls. Pardon me if Mr. Jameson here is gonna make better company than an unconscious 21 years old.”</p><p>He took a long pull from the glass again and the fighter had to agree that he had the look of a man who deserved a drink. Three-day old stubble mixed with the wrinkled dress shirt and mud spotted dress pants combined to make the usually immaculate assistant look almost haggard.</p><p>“<em>Uyoayelvdi,</em> man.” She said in her mother tongue. Kane didn’t understand the language, but sometimes she’d let it slip just to remind herself that she still knew it. He raised an eyebrow in question, but Amara didn’t bother translating. Instead, she asked, “The age thing is really freaking you out isn’t it?”, because she could tell that it was.</p><p>Kane snorted into his drink and cut his eyes away. Awkwardly shifted his weight from foot to foot he said, “No...” in an unconvincing tone. “It’s just…weird. I spent all this time thinking you’re almost thirty and then I find out…” He trailed off and said nothing else. He took another drink and Amara sighed.  </p><p>“Whatever” she said, sitting up. “Before you really kick into that, can you let me into my room? I want to get out of these pants before they develop sentience to demand a trip to the laundry.”</p><p>Kane snorted out a laugh at that and nodded. He set down his drink and then offered her a hand up. She took it and dropped the ice pack on an end table. Amara followed the man down the hall off the anteroom and around the corner. They came to a polished chrome door at the end of the hall that had a keypad and a thick deadbolt. Kane glanced over his shoulder at her and Amara rolled her eyes. She turned her back to him anyway and heard him punch in the code. Flippant as the man was while interacting with her, the door code was the one thing he didn’t skimp on. It was changed every three days. Yaruka had it on a running inscription and the code was only sent via secured insta-message to those who needed it. Himself, Kane, and sometimes Hill or Lloyd, most often. But if another guard was stationed here overnight they would be given the code as well, and more often than not it would be changed the next day. In short, the noble was paranoid about the door, and therefore Kane was as well.</p><p>After that door was opened there was another just behind it. This one was wooden, thick, and had a padlock the size of a grapefruit hanging from a sliding bolt. Kane pulled a sturdy silver chain from beneath his tailored shirt. It was the kind of chain dog tags would normally hang from, but instead a thick golden key swung from the sliver links. He slid the key into the padlock and removed it from the door. Pocketing the lock (he wouldn’t bother locking her in when he was staying in the penthouse with her) he returned the key to its place around his neck and opened the door for her. </p><p>“Thanks man.” She smiled and stepped past him into the room.</p><p>It really wasn’t much of a room, in all honesty. While the rest of the penthouse was decked in creature comforts and cutting edge opulence, this hidden section was left vastly undeveloped. The warm wooden floors ended at the door and were replaced by concrete. The plain sheetrock walls were painted a basic white and were reinforced by steel girders and iron rivets. Two doors lay on the opposite and adjacent walls from the one she walked through. The one to her left lead to a small bathroom and the other….lead somewhere she didn’t want to think about just then.</p><p>It was likely originally intended to be made into a panic room, but instead it now held all of Amara’s meager possessions. The only furniture to speak of was a low set bed frame, a scratched wooden table in the corner, and a small bookcase to the right of the bed. There was a trunk set against the opposite wall and a small rectangular mirror with a crack in the corner set atop it. It was utilitarian and cold, but it served its purpose and it was as much of a home as she was going to get. And in reality, she was glad it didn’t feel like one. Feeling at home here would have sullied the memories she had of warm cabins and misty forests.</p><p>Amara heard the door close behind her and sagged slightly. Though she felt more at ease with Kane than most, the instinct to conceal weakness was something that was ingrained into her bones. It irked her that she’d been as pathetic as she <em>had</em> been today, but she had at least been able to disguise most of the discomfort from her other injuries. The rolled ankle and the glancing blow she’d taken to the temple in her mad dash to get out of the warehouse had gone mostly unnoticed, and her knee was still holding her up, if shakily.</p><p>Crossing the cool concrete floor to the bathroom, the fighter shed her muddy cargo pants as she went. The still damp t-shirt and stolen mechanic shirt that she’d carried from the living room she balled up and threw onto the table, followed closely by her underwear and breast band which she shucked off with a sigh. She started the shower, which blessedly was hooked up to the same water system as the rest of the penthouse and held a seemingly endless supply of hot water. Standing under the warm spray Amara let her eyes close and her shoulders relax. Kane was right, it had been a long fucking day.</p><p>Amara thought back to the garage office and grimaced. Not only had she gone so far as to disrespect her owner, but she’d even cursed him in her native language. Yaruka hated her tribal tongue and anytime he heard her speak it pain was sure to follow. But, <em>Katuwa</em> save her, Amara couldn’t help herself. He’d wanted her to <em>kill</em> for Christ’s sake, and kill a FED of all people. He’d never asked that of her before outside of a fight. None of the dogs had ever been asked that before, at least not any of the originals, and it made bile rise to the back of Amara’s throat.</p><p>Sure, in the heat of a fight people got killed. Injuries that looked innocuous at first turned out to be fatal and sometimes things got out of hand. Unfortunately, it had been happening more often in recent months, now that most of the original dogs were gone and were being replaced by hoods nobles pulled from back alleys and jail cells. But to take a life outside of the ring? To break the one law that was sacrosanct outside of the bonds of slavery they’d willingly taken on? That was insanity. It was suicidal on a cellular level.</p><p>The New Alliance had its flaws, for sure. After the union of nations a lot of things had changed, and not always for the better, but all in all they came through on most of their promises.</p><p>The war that had started between global superpowers had festered and consumed the world for years. People that were too set in their ways to align themselves with other nations were quickly taken out. After that nations and alliances rose and fell within the span of months or weeks.</p><p>That was until the common people, who were sick of getting gassed and bombed and seeing their children come home in caskets had risen up…and eaten their governments from the inside out. The people who had been stomped on all their lives were now the ones raining fire down on any military-industrial complex they could get their hands on. When the last bomb fell, it was them who were left standing, unified.</p><p>They had done what no other generation had done before them, they’d cut off the necrotized limb rather than let it rot to remain whole. They left behind the names and borders of their nations and fought as a species, rather than as nationalities or races. They burned the field to start anew, and the hollowed-out shells of the peoples left ravaged by the war had fallen into their fold gladly. From there they set out to rule the world under one banner and with the same standards.</p><p>Sanctions and laws were iron-clad, but generally fair. People liked to bitch about the ‘Good old days’ while enjoying their free health care, and the wage gap was in the shitter below the Noble class. The promise of complete equality was still being worked on though. Instantaneous social change just wasn’t a possibility, no matter who was in charge, and prejudice died a slow death.</p><p>Take for example the noble class. One thing had become abundantly clear after the war, and that was that to rule one needed the rich. So, they had created a whole socioeconomic class in which to put those who refused to allow themselves to be made equal, and let them fight amongst themselves.</p><p>Each noble held territories that they were responsible for, and could gain more by improving the ones they already owned. Based on the number of territories they had, they were ranked on a global scale of noble class one, two, or three. Every year districts were measured by a peace and prosperity index. If your district maintained or improved on the index, you got to keep those areas. If it went down, then another noble could seize them. This allowed the Nobles to play their games of chess with either a benefit or no effect on the common people. Or at least, that’s how it was supposed to work. Whether or not the expectation had fit the reality depended on where one lived.</p><p>Though they held vast amounts of power, it had been made abundantly clear to the Nobles that if the NA high council found them abusing the authority they had so graciously been given, then they would wish that they had never been born. Torture and execution were not things that the NA flinched away from when it came to those in power, and more than one noble had met their fate at the end of a rope in the early days of their rule.</p><p>The nobles, by in large, were people who still needed a class system so that they could feel better about themselves. They were given power to appease them into global cooperation, and to ensure that the rest of the world’s people lived in peace, without the omnipresent threat of greed fueled by wealth hanging over their shoulders. It was a compromise that the NA had made in order to save the world. A compromise they were sometimes criticized for, but in the end, they had made all the same. </p><p>One thing that they hadn’t compromised on though, had been the Ultimate Rule. The one thing that had been assured after the wars and the carnage that birthed the New Alliance; the one thing that was absolute and irrevocable in this new world, was simple. No more killing.</p><p>Causing harm to another human was a federal offense now and to cause fatal harm? Well, you might as well just kill yourself right along with whoever you just offed. No one knew the punishment exactly, but a swift trip into deep space courtesy of a FED prison cruiser was enough to put most people off the idea and most of the public on the side of the angels. Criminals that weren’t even on your own planet were even easier to ignore than they had been before, and they rarely ever came back to darken one's doorstep.</p><p>And that’s why the rings were in trouble in the first place. After years of safety screenings every nanosecond and incarcerations over bar brawls people were hungry for violence. Most cops in the beginning were fine to look the other way as long as they got to see a little blood every once in a while, free of charge, but once bodies started dropping it became a whole other story.</p><p>Amara ran her hands through her hair and let the water wash the memories away. There was nothing she could do to change the rings’ legal status right now. Besides trying not to kill another dog (and attempting to keep <em>herself </em>alive as well) there was nothing she could do in the arena either, so there was no point dwelling on it now. Yaruka’s cavalier way of requesting Banner’s assassination still bothered her though. She hoped, perhaps naively, that it was just the man’s passing frustration at the rings bust, or his innate hatred for the FED, that had made him ask her why she hadn’t killed the detective. </p><p>After washing herself thoroughly and relishing in the heat, Amara exited the shower and dried off with a tread bare towel. She padded into the main room and over to the trunk. Moving the mirror to the side, she opened it to reveal her limited variety of clothing. An array of different shades of neutral lay inside. Mostly made up of black or dark gray, her clothing options consisted of colors that wouldn’t show blood and fabrics that were sturdy. Faux leather, denim, Kevlar, and army nit were her bread and butter. Now, however, she fished for the few articles of solely comfortable clothing that she owned. Navy sweat pants and an old hooded sweatshirt were pulled from the depths of the trunk and Amara pressed the indulgent material to her chest. She filled her lungs with the clean smell of detergent and the familiar yet indescribable scent of softness. Blazed across the front of the sweatshirt were the words ‘Beacon Hill Boxing Club’. It was originally the blue-green color of sea foam but the years had faded it to a misted cerulean grey. It was a good two sizes too large for her compact frame, but that just made it all the more comfortable. Over a hundred washes on her grandmother’s old washboard had left the material supple, and Amara pulled it over her head with a contented sigh.</p><p>She moved to refold a pair of pants when a sliver of white caught her eye in the bottom of the trunk. She reached down and, clasping the small bit of bone bead, pulled the garment it was attached to out from under the other cloths.</p><p>The dress had been her mother's. It was wrinkled and torn in two places, but the hunting gown was still devastatingly beautiful. Made from the hide of an ancient red she-wolf, the talons and claws that adorned the fabric lightly rattle against each other as the fighter shook out the dress to its full length. The furred fringe and hanging shell adornments about the neck shown faintly in the dim fluorescent light.</p><p>It was an enthralling garment, beautiful and lethal all at once. Crisp lines of sown leather and soft furs mixed with the morbid hangings of teeth and claws in a uniquely striking and sinistral way.</p><p>As wicked and ferocious as it looked, nothing had been killed for the dress. Her people hadn’t had the need to hunt for food for a generation even before Amara had been born, and killing for baubles on a bit of clothing was unimaginable. The wolf had passed from this world as an old friend, brimming with wisdom and fire. Her hide had thus been used to make a new huntresses’ first stalking gown; that her experience and ferocity could be passed on to the next line of warriors. The bone, shell, and claws had been collected from fallen allies over many years, each one sown on with a prayer sung to the mother. Amara had been so elated on her sixteenth birthday to receive the gown, to hunt in it for the first time that she’d nearly dropped her spear in her mad dash into the forest. She’d seen her mother wear it only a hand full of times, but every time she had been stunned and enraptured by it. She ran her hand over the silver and red fur that lined the shoulder and thought back on her conversation with Kane.</p><p>Looking back, it really wasn’t the man’s fault that he knew nothing about her people. They were purposefully secluded and secretive. Even people who had lived their whole lives in the south knew very little of them, so it was no wonder a city boy like Kane made assumptions about them based on rumors and conjecture. Shaking her head Amara re-folded the hunting dress and hid it once again at the bottom of the trunk. Somehow she’d held on to it through all the upheaval of the last five years, and she’d be damned if she lost it now to Yaruka out of stupidity by leaving it out in the open.</p><p>Amara thought about simply curling up in her bed and sleeping the rest of the evening away. Hell, she would probably be out for most of the next day as well, so why not go ahead and get comfortable? But something stopped her.</p><p>It was a rarity for Amara to feel lonely. She was surrounded by people all day. Guards, escorts, and a myriad of other employees were always fluttering about, and no matter where she went there were always people watching her.</p><p>Watching to see if she was real, watching to make sure she wouldn’t run. Watching to see if she’d flip and start killing everyone in the room, or just staring. Those were probably the most irritating gazes; the ones who just gawked. Amara knew what she looked like. She knew how ghastly her visage was and most days it didn’t bother her. She was a dog, her purpose wasn’t to look pretty. Who gave a shit if she looked like a horror movie extra? She was a dog. There wasn’t a single one of them that didn’t look like they’d been through a meat grinder, and Amara never batted an eye at the other fighters’ blemishes.</p><p>But Amara was pale, and old. Not in years per se, but the saying among dogs was that one month in the pits was like ten years on the battlefield. Drake, one of the other originals, had been a marine in Brazil before the union. One day before a fight they’d been whispering in the tunnels to each other across cages. “It took me two tours in that god-forsaken jungle to start lookin’ like a soldier” he’d said, holding his hand up to the scant amount of light falling into the tunnel from the pit. “Three lines on my arm, a bullet to the thigh, and a purple heart later everyone’s sayin’ how tough I look. Fuck if they could see me now.” And he was right. The hand he’d held up to the light looked like a patched up baseball mitt. That had been two months ago and as far as Amara knew they had been two of the few originals left.</p><p>Amara hadn’t seen Drake since then. She hoped that meant his owner had given him a break- that he was training or something, but she wasn’t very confident. Everyone said the pits took years off your life and out of your hide, and Drake and Amara had been at this for over five years now. They were old dogs, and they looked the part.</p><p>Drake, however, had honey-toned skin that masked most of his injuries except the ones that were the most grievous. Most people were of a darker tone now a day in general. Tans were both fashionable and genetically dominant. Most people were such a mix of different races now as well that the default skin tone for most things was brown. Amara had the southern pallor of her people though, and every scar shown through on its pale canvas in grotesque purples, pinks, and reds.</p><p>Yes, the fighter knew what she looked like. And most days, it didn’t bother her. But sometimes, very rarely, she looked in the mirror and found herself ugly. In her darker and more cynical moments she hated her reflection, and therefore resented the stares of the fuckers who would never leave her alone.</p><p>But not right now. Tonight, for once, she felt lonely. Maybe it was exhaustion or maybe it was the fact that she’d thought about her past more today than she had in months. Whatever the reason, she didn’t really want to be alone right now. Her room felt cold and empty, and the fighter didn’t want to knock out on her own quite yet. </p><p>Instead, she padded barefoot down the hall and back into the living room. True to his word Kane was on the phone, earpiece affixed firmly to the side of his head, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the now dark windows. The tumbler was refilled and hanging heavily at the rim from his fingertips. He nodded his head in greeting and raised an eyebrow in silent question, still listening to whoever was on the line. Amara just shook her head in reply and crossed over to the couches. Beneath the top of the ottoman she pulled out a white throw blanket that matched the supple furniture. Without even glancing at the assistant, who she could tell was still looking at her, she spread the blanket across herself and laid down on the shorter of the two couches. She propped her chest up with a throw pillow behind her shoulders and burrowed more firmly into the nest of padded leather. Pulling the blanket up almost to her chin, the fighter was sure she looked the quintessential toddler, but at the moment she just didn’t give a fuck. She was comfortable, she was warm, and for the first time all day, the variety of aches and pains she carried were quieted. Closing her eyes with Kane’s light timber of a voice in the background, Amara felt herself sliding away. And now, she surrendered.</p><p>……………………</p><p>In her dreams she runs barefoot through the forest; the underbrush grasping at her legs and her breath puffing in the misted air. It was brisk and shadowed under the trees; early morning before the sun had woken enough to burn off the fog of night times reign. She runs, swift as a deer, message heavy on her back to the stronghold of the Blue clan. They waited on her to bring the news of the coming war. It would catch them sleeping if she didn’t make it in time and hundreds would die, so she runs. Just as the trees began to thin and Amara catches the scent of a morning cook fire, the scene melts into an ally. She still runs barefoot, but now it is mud and sewer waste that clings to her calves. The steel and brick walls press in on her and the smell of the city gages her. David is waiting on her at the end of the alley. His arm outstretched, calling her forward. They need hands to fight and strong legs to push, and she is the fastest of their unit. The vanguard waits on them and if she doesn’t get there soon they’ll never make it into the warehouse. Just as Amara can see the whites of David’s eyes and count the slim wrinkles of his forehead, an arm comes around his neck holding a knife. It’s a wicked thing, serrated halfway down and made of tempered titanium. David’s pale eyes go wide and he doesn’t even have time to yell before his throat is cut to the bone. Crimson pours from the wound and Amara can see his larynx working through the rendered flesh. Amara runs, trying to reach him, but he dissolves before her eyes.</p><p>A dog is waiting for her at the entrance to the pit. Holding a curved blade in his right hand he dances from foot to foot, readying himself for the fight. This time Amara does not run. Running is for people with hope. Running is for things that can still be done, if only you can get there in time. Nobody ever runs to the gallows.</p><p>So Amara walks. One bare and bloody foot in front of the other she walks down the tunnel, her own knife heavy in her hand. Just as she reaches the ring of light at the edge of the pit she sees a broken body lying in the dirt behind her challenger. Long black and curly hair is soaking up the blood around her caved in skull. There is no face left to see, but the deep brown color of her skin and the beaded pink and yellow collar tells Amara all she needs to know. Falling to her knees, she lets the knife slip from her fingers. Above her, the crowd growls. She looks up and sees their twisted faces; their hungry teeth snapping at her neck. Among them is Yaruka, his mouth a hard line. He turns away from her, unable to look. She wonders why.</p><p>But someone is waiting for her just on the other side of the ring, his arm stretched out in greeting. Death crouches over the ruined body, already taking her into his arms. Just as Amara is getting to her feet, reaching to forestall his morbid hand, her opponent leaps. The knife descends, the crowd roars, and Amara screams…..</p><p> </p><p>…………………………….</p><p> </p><p>The body that had been sleeping like the grave on the sofa suddenly jerked upright on a gasp. Amara, eyes wide and semi-lucid, nearly bite through her bottom lip choking off what clearly would have been an ear ringing scream. Her breath came in panted gasps. One hand was grasped at the back of the coach in a white-knuckled claw, and the other pressed to the ribs that must have been screaming at her in protest.</p><p>Kane watched from the other coach, wanting to reach for her but knowing it would do no good. McCurley had woken her once unannounced and she’d nearly ripped his shoulder out of its socket. Furthermore, even if he could pull her into the present and out of her nightmares, he knew there was nothing he could say to calm her. Nothing in his life could ever compare to whatever horror she’d seen behind her eyelids. So he said nothing.</p><p>Slowly, without even acknowledging his presence, she lowered herself back to the cushions. Her breaths quieted and, closing her eyes once more, she nodded right back off. Kane wondered with a sour taste in his mouth what kind of frequency her nightmares came in, that she could be so blasé about them. He supposed he would never know. And in complete honesty, he was fucking grateful.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven: Who owns you?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You get to meet Marina in this chapter! She's probably my favorite character.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shaun pushed another file across his desk with a bitter shove. He’d been on desk duty for a week and a half now and if he had to sign off on one more prisoner transfer or littering citation he was going to stab himself in the eye with his own ballpoint. As expected Brass had not been pleased with the piss poor results of the Ring 3 sting and, since shit rolls downhill, the blame had fallen from corporal, to captain, and all the way down to him. Across the bullpen, O’Neil gave her own sigh of resignation and dropped a stack of gear orders in the box marked ‘finished’ to the right of her desk. Their gazes met and Banner could tell his partner was minutes away from committing suicide via office supply as well.</p><p>Standing, he stretched to try and alleviate the ache developing in his lower back. Hearing half a dozen vertebrae crack, he headed into the break room to get some coffee. Returning with two steaming cups in hand he parked himself on the edge of O’Neil’s desk and offered one to his partner wordlessly.</p><p>“<em>Please</em> tell me there’s arsenic in this. I swear to fucking god if I have to do one more day of this I’m going to illegally discharge my weapon into my own goddamn head.” She said, taking a sip and tossing the next form on to the center of the heavily burdened desktop.</p><p>“Sadly no,” Banner responded taking his own sip and grimacing at the bland bitterness. The break room always had shit coffee during the day shift. “but I’ll shoot you if you shoot me. Double homicide will look better on the death certificate.”</p><p>“True” his partner snorted.</p><p>O’Neil flipped open the form and stabbed her pin down on the first line violently. Banner quietly watched her fill in order codes with a sadistic scowl she usually reserved for slamming perps from domestic violence calls down on to the hood of their patrol cruiser. His eyes absently scanned her desk, taking in the small dashes of personality. The lopsided and purple glazed clay cup, obviously handmade, filled with pencils next to framed photos of her kids and husband. Two little girls ran full tilt through a sprinkler while their father looked on from the background. Their smiling faces mocking the partners' combined misery from behind the glass.</p><p>“How’s the family O’Neil?” Banner asked, downing more of his coffee.</p><p>“Doing ok.” She replied, flipping the order closed and leaning back in her chair. “Malia just got over a cold last week, but she’s doing fine now, and Brianna has started the recorder.”</p><p>Shaun winced. His nephew had already gone through his phase with that vile instrument. His brother had called it the ‘Pipe from hell!’ and he hadn’t been wrong.</p><p>“Yeah,” she agreed with her own grimace. “So far the neighbors have only complained once, but the dog refuses to be in the house when she practices. I swear the music teacher at their elementary school is a god damn sadist.”</p><p>Banner smirked, but hid it by rubbing a hand down his face. If you would have asked around the bullpen a few years ago there wouldn’t have been a single officer less inclined to being a parent than Marina O’Neil.</p><p>She was tough and abrasive. A black-Irish woman with balls the size of Antarctica who could string a man up by his nuts without even blinking. As a rule of thumb, she could cuss any other officer under the table and was so fiercely independent that she’d chased off three partners before Banner had fallen in her lap. A green transfer from Fultondale, she’d resented the fact that his gold shield had outranked her own silver even though she’d beat the streets of this city for her whole life. But Banner was no fool, even back then when they were still stationed in Downtown. He’d deferred to her judgment more often than not, and they’d found in each other an idealism about the spirit of the law that was rare to find in FED units as large as Trinity’s. To most officers the law was important, but at the end of the day it was just a job. To Banner and O’Neil, however, it meant more than that.</p><p>They’d both lost loved ones when they were young to The War to End All Nations, and Banner himself had been deployed, years later, more than once during his tenure with the Navy. They’d both seen what lawlessness and killing could do, and neither wanted to see that kind of violence set loose back into the world. So they’d gotten along, and formed a steadfast partnership. O’Neil was a force of nature, and Banner was content to play the good cop to her bad as they made a name for themselves all throughout the Battery and Hell’s Kitchen.</p><p>And then she’d met Lucas.</p><p>Banner had been on an undercover job on Coney Island. O’Neil had never liked UC work and for all intents and purposes, she sucked at it. She was too honest by half to really sink into a character and her straight to the point attitude, while an asset as a beat cop or detective, often made her skin craw during the tedium of infiltration. So Banner hadn’t been there when O’Neil had stopped to help a single father with two toddlers and a busted stroller on the side of the road.  And if he was being honest the first time he’d met the paralegal after his op was finished he’d thought, cynically, that O’Neil was going to eat him alive within a month. He’d mentally shortened that assessment when he’d found out the man had kids.</p><p>But cut to three years later and here she was, happily married and the beloved stepmother of a six-year-old firecracker named Malia and the eight going on thirty-year-old Brianna. Banner had never seen someone fall more quickly and completely in love than his partner had with those little girls. He’d watched Marina ‘fuckin’ O’Neil turn into Marina, the mother, ‘fuckin’ O’Neil, and at times the juxtaposition of her vocabulary still amused the detective.</p><p>“Ah, come on O’Neil. Don’t you know? All teachers are sadists.”</p><p>She barked out a short laugh and leaned her head back, staring up to the ceiling for guidance. “Ha! You’re goddamn right. You’d have to be nuts in the head to want to spend all day with <em>other</em> people’s kids.” </p><p>“Your own kids being the exception?” Banner asked, eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Of course,” she responded matter-of-factly. “<em>My </em>kids are angels. Sassy little bad-ass angels.”</p><p>Banner just chuckled in response and his eyes drifted back over to the photo. Becoming a wife and mother had not dulled Marina’s whip-like tongue (outside of the hearing rang of little ears anyway), her dedication to the law, or her tough as nails demeanor in the slightest. If anything having a steady and supporting home life had made her even better at her job. She’d sat the detective exam a year ago and destroyed it with the encouragement of Lucas and the girls behind her.</p><p><strong><em>And she deserves it</em></strong>, Banner thought to himself decidedly. The woman had fought her whole life to get where she was, combating both her gender and skin color to become one of the best officers Midtown had ever seen, and she deserved her happy ending.</p><p>Not for the first time, Banner thought about the idea of finding his own family, but quickly dismissed it as ridiculous. What kind of person would put up with an over thirty bachelor, who could barely boil water and lived the life of a FED detective? Or at least he <em>had</em> lived the life of a detective. Now he was stuck with his partner as an over-glorified secretary.</p><p>Shaun was just contemplating heading back to his own desk to start in on the next round of paperwork when suddenly the captain’s office door slammed open and in marched the women herself with all the authority of a hurricane.</p><p>Captain Rosita Hernández was all of five feet tall, but was probably one of the most intimidating people Banner had ever met. She had a voice that could stop a train and a sharp and business-like appearance that simply screamed, ‘In Charge’. When he and O’Neil had transferred into the Midtown unit he’d quietly thought to himself that if the captain had told the detective to fistfight a bear, he probably would have just to keep from facing her ire.</p><p>“Banner!” she barked, heading straight for him and his partner, her short heels clicking powerfully on the concrete floor of the bullpen. “O’Neil! One of the filches snagged at your bust? She just got her tongue ripped out in general holding down at county.”</p><p>Banner’s jaw dropped and O’Neil shot out of her seat. “What!?!” she all but yelled. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”</p><p>The captain gave the pair a hard look and whipped out a holo radio. “I wish I was” she said flatly. Above the device floated a scene obviously from a security camera. It showed a middle-aged blonde woman in prison greens standing in a cafeteria line. The image went to static for a moment, and when it returned there was chaos on screen. Prisoners rioted in the background, but in the forefront the woman was on her knees. Blood ran like a fountain from her mouth and Banner saw her gagging on it. Beside her, a mutilated slab of flesh rested on the floor where the tongue has been toss after it had been removed. Correctional officers swarmed the screen and the image went blank.</p><p>“Holy shit…” Banner breathed, and he blinked hard to try and wrangle his emotions. Suppressing his anger and sickness as much as possible, his voice was still hard when he turned to the captain and asked, “Who did they have on her!?”</p><p>Hernandez raised an unimpressed eyebrow and said, “Don’t know, and right now I don’t care.”</p><p>O’Neil made no such effort to suppress her rage. “Son of a bitch! You know this is some Noble level bullshit Captain. They throw people in county so they can assault them right under our noses!”</p><p>And she was right, everyone knew it. To his surprise the captain said as such when she responded with the same unimpressed look. “Well no shit O’Neil,” she bit back, crossing her immaculately dressed arms. Red nails flashed with the same fire that was in her eyes. “but I can’t help it that correctional is still under regional jurisdiction. What I do know is that Federal Law Enforcement Division is under the authority of the New Alliance, making us the people that go in and get shit done. So go in there and get shit done.”</p><p>There was order and conviction in her voice, but Banner was confused, “Wait, what?” he asked dumbly, eyebrows drawing together.</p><p>“She was prepared to give a statement on possible identities of owners in the ring when she got transferred into holding.” The captain said, turning her sharp gaze back to the detective. “Now, she still might be willing to spill, but she’s refusing to “speak” to anyone but you Banner, so you and O’Neil have caught yourselves a break. You’re back on this case-” Both the partners jerked into action, wanting to get out the door before the captain changed her mind, but they both paused when she continued her statement. “-but you better pray this filch has something good to sell.”</p><p>“What do you mean Captain?” O’Neil asked, hand frozen on the jacket she was pulling off the back of her chair.</p><p>The captain regarded them both sternly. “Look,” she said eventually. “Corporal is breathing down my neck on this. If we don’t catch a break soon we’re going to have global level agencies running this investigation. And if you’ll recall they don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Now if Nobles are involved with these rings, they’re not going to give them up easy, and you remember what happened the last time they made a Nobel bend over.”</p><p>“The Franklin uprising.” Banner breathed out with a shudder. In his mind he heard the sound of screams and bullets flying through the air. The memory of the scent of burning horseflesh and blood assaulted his nose. The detective shook his head to clear it. That battle was a long time ago, and he’d been out for years. Those memories couldn’t hold him anymore.  </p><p>“The Franklin uprising,” the captain repeated, catching Banner’s gaze with a knowing look. Turning to O’Neil she continued, “Now I shouldn’t have to remind you how much innocent blood was spilled in that godforsaken cluster fuck, but I will be damned if it happens again in my city, so get in there and get <em>something</em>.”</p><p>“Yes sir!” He and his partner said in unison, saluting the captain and already catching each other’s eye, communicating without words as only partners can do. She looked between the two detectives and gave them an approving nod. Turning on her heels the captain strode back toward her office as the sea of officers in the bullpen parted like waves before Moses. Banner shared a wide-eyed look with O’Neil and then they were off, grabbing guns from the weapons safe and scrambling toward their cruiser. Banner quickly prayed to whoever was listening that he and his partner got something from this filch as well. He’d seen enough carnage in the south to last him a lifetime. The last thing he wanted was for that mayhem to follow him north to Midtown.</p><p>……………</p><p>“Ms. Stannerstet, thank you so much for seeing us today.” Banner greeted the sad women who lay prostrate on the pale hospital sheets. Her usually tanned skin was pale and her bottle-blonde hair was going dishwater brown at the roots. They had packed her mouth with gauze and she had a myriad of lines leading to and from her body. There wasn’t any blood left on the pristine cotton, and there wouldn’t be if Banner’s suspicions were correct. The sick methodology behind removing the tongue of someone who might rat you out was both intelligent and cruel. The archaic practice had been modernized to account for contemporary medicine, and the results were nauseatingly effective.</p><p>In medieval times torturers would have heated up the tools used to remove the flesh so as to cauterize the wound as they cut. This kept the victim from bleeding out. Now, however, it was done with cold steel. A dull knife more than likely, so as to be painful as possible. This made it so that, to save the prisoner's life, correctional officers had to dump Cauterstick down the victim’s mouth to stop the bleeding within a few minutes of the injury.</p><p>Cauterstick was an igneous powder that heated to searing temperatures when it made contact with blood. It had saved thousands of lives on the battlefield during the war, but the price paid for that salvation was the flesh and nerve endings at the sight of the wound. Whereas it was common medical practice to reattach limbs or pieces of skin that had been cut or even burned off, there was no way to reattach something to flesh that had been seared by Cauterstick. There was just too much damage, and that was the sick irony of it. The prisoner survived, but they would never be able to speak or eat normally again, and it was their ‘rescuers’ that had done it to them.</p><p>It also served to tell the victim, “<em>We don’t care if you die”. </em>Because what if they don’t get there in time with the Cauterstick?</p><p><em>“Go ahead,” </em>it tells them<em>, “tell them anything you want. It doesn’t matter. They can’t protect you. We will be back, and we don’t care if you die</em>.” </p><p>That this woman was still even willing to meet with him was a miracle.</p><p>“I realize this is a difficult time,” he continued when he got no response from the former filch. “and believe me, we are so sorry for what has happened to you. Rest assured, we will bring whoever is responsible to justice.”</p><p>The woman finally turned a caustic look at him in response. Her muddied hazel eyes told him just what she thought of him and the FEDs promises. She flipped him off too, just for good measure.</p><p>In his peripheral he saw O’Neil’s lips twitch, and she coughed to cover a laugh. Banner shot her a look out of the corner of his eye, but continued his questioning in a slow and measured voice. This woman had been through hell, and he wouldn’t fault her any anger or bitterness toward him at the moment.</p><p>“What can we do for you today ma’am? I understand you wanted to speak with me?”</p><p>Still glaring at him, Tania Stannerstet snatched the probes hanging from the rectangular device on the rolling table tray that was positioned above her knees. She pressed one to her right temple and jabbed her finger on the power button of the neural translator. The screen flickered on and then a green line jumped across the read-out. A mechanical voice cracked from the speakers of the box as the filche’s thoughts were translated into words almost instantaneously.</p><p>“<em>Fuck you, pig. I can’t speak with nobody no more.</em>” The voice said clinically.</p><p>The translator couldn’t convey inflections or tone, but Ms. Stannerstet’s glare made up for that in spades. Shaun had known Tania from the ring though, and it was still disconcerting to see her face and hear the cadence of her speech without the thick Downtown accent.</p><p>Seeing his ‘awe shucks’ boy from the suburbs routine wasn’t working, O’Neil stepped in with something a little more direct.“We understand that you were prepared to help the FED in our investigation into the fighting ring in Midtown? We were wondering if you would still be interested in sharing what you know.”</p><p>Tania cut a suspicious eye at his partner for a moment, but then she settled back on the sheets with a slightly less vehement scowl. “Your cooperation would be a great help to us Ms. Stannerstet.” O’Neil continued.</p><p>Banner’s ‘apple pie face’ as his partner called it, usually got most people to open up, but sometimes city folk just got each other more quickly. Tania may have agreed to talk with him based on their shared experiences with the ring, but Shaun could see it was going to me O’Neil who got anything more than animosity from the former filch. </p><p>“<em>Call me Tania girl, Ms. Tannerstet is my ass licking sister</em>. <em>Bitch got her ah white picket fence an’ now she too good for us round the DC.</em>”</p><p>O’Neil gave a small smile. “Okay, Tania. What do you know about the rings organization? Who runs the operation, sets the times and locations?”</p><p><em>“Rings got three locations each, and a few that can sub in if shit hits the fan. Carlos is the guy who knows where ever’ thing at. I ain’t know no last names, so don’t even ask.Word goes out the day befo’ where the fights gonna be. Fight roster gets sent out three days befo’. The times you should know boy” </em>she shot a narrow-eyed look at Banner<em>. “Even a chicken shit pig investor shoulda’ picked somthin’ up.”</em></p><p>Banner tilted his head in concession.</p><p>“What about the fighters themselves?” O’Neil continued, before Tania really set in on the Detective. “Do you know who any of them are, if they have any family?”</p><p><em>“No.” </em>Tania replied simply. She glanced down to look at her nails, averting her eyes. Banner sent his partner a quick look, and her infinitesimal nod told him she’d seen the aversion too.</p><p>The filch woman continued, <em>“I’m sure they all got some kind of kin, but we never talked ‘bout it.” </em>She looked back to the pair and said defensively,<em> “What, you think we go out for drinks after a fight? Shoot the shit with ‘em all bloodied up after?” </em></p><p>O’Neil raised a brow skeptically, but she didn’t push. Her next question was the hard hitter. “What about the owners?”</p><p><em>“What owners?” </em>Tania replied, but the tense line of her shoulders against the hospital bed gave away her unease. <em>“They people ain’t they? You know well as I do why they fightin’. Ain’t nobody force them fools to step in that pit</em>.”</p><p>O’Neil leaned forward slightly; a bloodhound picking up the trail, and her eyes narrowed as she regarded the woman. “Yes, we know the fighters are there of their own violation, but we also know somebody owns each fighter. Takes care of them, takes in a portion of their winnings. So, what do you know about them?”</p><p>Tania rolled her shoulders back and crossed her arms across her chest. She held her head high and met his partner’s penetrating gaze with her own glare.<em>“Them people swore to be dogs, girl. They say they’d fight for nothin’ for themselves as long as no one else got pulled in. They belong to the rings, they ain’t got no other owners.”</em></p><p>And that right there still blew Banner’s mind. A group of people had, for all intents and purposes, sold themselves into indentured slavery; and as far as anyone could tell it was to protect a bunch of animals. Word off the street was that it had started with some radical animal rights group out of the southeast not long after the Franklin Uprising. This group of around twenty had fought with local gangs in Trinity, where animal fighting had become a less than well-kept secret past time, for over a year. Trinity was the capital of dogs, cocks and bulls at the time and then, almost overnight, it had all just stopped. No more dog carcasses thrown into allies with their throats ripped out. No more bloody hoof prints leading into warehouses left empty in the morning. It was like it all just….disappeared.</p><p>Within six months, however, strange people with heavy injuries and dog collars about their necks started showing up in back road transactions and emergency clinics, only to be swept away into obscurity before the FED could even get a whiff of them. That had been five years ago, and the underground fights had been going on ever since with the FED scrambling to try and put a stop to them. Yes, what Tania was say was true. The ‘dogs’ had sold themselves to the rings, but these days the operation was far from the goat and pony show it had been all those years ago. </p><p>“Cut the bull shit Tania.” O’Neil commanded, meeting the filch’s hard gaze. “We know the ‘dogs’ are taken care of and paid for by owners. They are the ones that pull in the money and keep these rings afloat. Now we know they exist and we know they pull in most of the revenue so they’ve got to be making a lot of the decisions. We know they are affluent individuals with power and wealth and the anonymity to keep their hands clean.” His partner pause for emphasis, and Banner saw Tania shift slightly in discomfort.</p><p>“We know they’re out there,” O’Neil continued, “and that they are the cause of unimaginable human suffering. Including yours Tania. We just don’t know who they are.”</p><p>Tania looked down at the neural translator and one of her hands drifted up to cup her throat. A wave of sadness hit her expression, and Banner ached for the woman in that moment. Despite her involvement with the rings, no one deserved to have their voice violently ripped away like that. No one deserved to be silenced. Her eyes hardened then, and she glared at the lines spiking erratically across the translator’s display. <strong><em>There’s her spirit</em></strong>, thought Banner to himself. <strong><em>There’s the hellcat I saw at the pit. </em></strong></p><p>Seeing the resolution on the filches’ face, O’Neil continued. “So,” she asked slowly “what can you tell us?”</p><p><em>“For sure? Nothin’.” </em>Tania replied, letting her hands drop to her lap.<em> “Way back in the day dogs used to just stay at the ring. Lived real close. Ain’t nobody really take em’ home or nothin’. But then we start getting’ mo’ money ya know? Like real high-end shit. Folks with deep pockets comin’ in. Then we get these ‘investors’ and then shit started gettin’ real interestin’. Dogs start comin’ in with these big motha’ fuckers in suits. They start showin’ up with betta clothes, new weapons, shit like that. And the bets….” </em></p><p>She paused and blew out a breath through her nose and ran a hand through her hair.<em> “Girl, I was makin’ ends meet befo’, but after that? Fuck, we were reelin’ in 10K every night.” </em>Shaking her head slightly she continued,<em> “But now, see, we got all this security comin’ in. And we got folks watchin’ from boxes you can’t see into. We got millions goin’ in on fights…millions! Shit, we had to separate them motha fuckers from ever’ one else just to make the pools fair.”</em></p><p>Tania looked to Banner and met his eyes with a smirk. “<em>I might not be no high educated detective, but I know a fat rat when I smell one.</em>”</p><p>“So you know for a fact that individuals in the noble class are currently acting as owners in the rings?” O’Neil asked quickly, leaned forward intently and hanging on the filches reply. Banner himself felt his own shoulder tense and anticipation take root in his chest. If they could get an eye witness statement confirming Noble involvement it would blow this case wide open.</p><p><em>“When you hear me say that?” </em>Tania swung her gaze to his partner.<em> “I ain’t know nothin’ bout no Nobles, but I ain’t blind girl. There’s only so many people who can afford shit like that, and it ain’t no filch. Hell, even Carlos ain’t that stacked. So you tell me girl, who you think them owners is?” </em></p><p>Her logic was sound, but the detective felt disappointment settle in his gut. Without an out and out statement of certainty that Noble level individuals were involved in the rings there would be no easy warrant to search and question the aristocracy of Trinity. Nobles were almost untouchable without global government approval, and it took an act of god with recoded proof to get that kind of authorization from the NA.</p><p>“OK Tania. Thank you for that. It’s not anything we can act on, but just having your confirmation and testimony helps with ratifying what we <em>think</em> we know.” O’Neil replied, relaxing back into her uncomfortable plastic chair.</p><p>Tania just nodded once in assertion and fell quiet for a moment. Her eyes cut over to Banner suddenly, and the detective felt himself sit up slightly under her scrutiny. “<em>You. Boy</em>.” The translator all but barked. His partner’s questions had distracted her up to this point, but now it seemed Tania had remembered just how pissed she was at the detective. “<em>I never liked you. Thought you was too nice; too innocent to be real. No grass on the infield…if you know what I mean.</em>”</p><p>Banner tilted his chin down submissively and didn’t even think about coming to his own defense. He wouldn’t regret doing his job, or being good at it, but he understood Tania’s distain. To her he wasn’t a decorated naval officer turned FED detective trying to fight for justice. He wasn’t a UC operative just doing his job. No, to her he was the reason she was in a hospital bed and would never be able to speak again. He was the catalyst that had set off the destruction of her life as she knew it. He wouldn’t regret what he’d done, but he wouldn’t stop her from getting her licks in where they were deserved. </p><p>“<em>When that old dog told us not to trust you three days before the bust we shoulda listened. Shoulda iced you out right then and there. Now look where I’m at. I got nothin’ now… nothin’.</em>”</p><p>Banner’s brows drew down in confusion. “What do you mean ‘an old dog’?” he asked slowly.</p><p>Tania blew a short snort out of her nose, but said nothing. Banner felt a wave of unease slither down his spine. O’Neil sent him her own look, one brow elegantly arched in obvious question, but Banner ignored it.</p><p>“Tania,” he said slowly, “I remember rumors flying around that a senior fighter would be there the day of the bust. Is that who you’re talking about?”</p><p>The filch gave him a cynical look and snorted again in disdain, but she nodded.“Did you see who it was?”</p><p>“<em>Don’t know her name. They just call her wolf</em>.”</p><p>“Wolf?” O’Neil asked, her tone skeptical, but Banner said nothing. A chill had just run up his spine like an electric current through a wire. He’d heard that name before.</p><p>Tania’s gaze fell back to his partner.“<em>You know, most dogs have show names; somethin’ people can yell at them when they’re in the pit. Shit like ‘Rottweiler’ and ‘Pitbull’. Hell, we even had a girl called ‘shitzu’ for a while, before she got killed.</em>” Tania drummed her long nails on the plastic of the tray table beside the translator absentmindedly.</p><p>“<em>Not this girl. She went through lots’a of names, ‘parently, when they were first startin’ out. They used to call er’ chief or some shit, ‘cause she’s got some kind of tribal something in her. She was just ‘Bitch’ for a while too.” </em>The filche’s mouth quirked up in half smile.</p><p><em>“Then, ‘bout two years ago she got pinned by some big ass dog to the edge of the pit</em>. <em>Som’ bitch must have been near seven feet tall, and he was strung out on somthin’. Dogs ain’t supposed to use, but you know how it is.</em>” She looked to Banner and he nodded mutely in agreement.</p><p>He didn’t, actually, ‘know how it is’ that is. He hadn’t grown up in the streets of the city and his middle-class sub rural family had thought him precious little of the sad reality both Tania and his partner knew. But he knew the woman was just looking for affirmation, so he nods and Tania continues. “<em>Thought for sure she was a gonner. The girl’s a scrapper, but they’s really fuck all a mutt can do when they in that kinda shit. But then... I watched her rip a part of that dogs shoulder off… with her teeth.</em>”</p><p>Banner swallowed against a suddenly dry throat and he felt his partner shift slightly in her chair on the other side of Tania’s hospital bed. “<em>After that they started callin’ ‘er ‘Wolf’. Well, most everybody did anyway. ‘Bitch’ is still pretty popular.”</em></p><p>They were all quiet for a moment, absorbing what the former filch had said. Banner finally cleared his throat and shook his head slightly to rid himself of the unease. “Tania, you can’t be talking about who I think you’re talking about. That fighter…she’s an original. One of the first ‘dogs’ ever to go in the ring. If she had been there I think I would have known about it.”</p><p>Tania just shrugged noncommittally.</p><p>“So you know this fighter?” O’Neil asked, catching his eye across the white sheets of the hospital bed.</p><p>“I know <em>of</em> her.” He responded. “She’s popular betting stock; so much so that they put a cap on her fights to spread out revenue. You gotta remember though O’Neil, I never actually <em>went</em> to the fights. I was UC as an investor. I never actually saw her.”</p><p>O’Neil nodded her head once in acceptance, but then Tania interjected.</p><p>“<em>Yeah you did</em>.”</p><p>“Pardon me?” Banner asked, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.</p><p>“<em>Yeah, you did. You talked to her the week before last.</em>”</p><p>The detective thought back quickly, then shook his head in denial. “I’m sorry, what?” he said skeptically, “Tania, are we still talking about the same fighter?”</p><p>Familiar firelight in the filches eyes and she responded with a venomous glare. “<em>Fuck you pig. I’m not a fuckin’ moron on top a bein’ mute! Yeah, I’m talkin’ ‘bout the same person. I saw you run smack into ‘er on yo’ way into the pit. Little pale chick, looks like som’body put ‘er in a blender and pressed puree? She wear a black and silver collar; surly to god you ain’t blind on top of bein’ a fuckin’ cop.”</em></p><p>Banner froze. Yes, he remembered the fighter Tania spoke of. She’d been leaving the warehouse of Ring 3 escorted by two big men in suits when Shaun had accidentally barreled into her on his way into an investors meeting. He’d gotten held up by the Captain before leaving the bullpen and was running late, literally.</p><p>She’d been kind, in a sense. Grabbing his bicep to keep his face from meeting the floor and cocking a half-smile at him. Shaun couldn’t return the favor though. At first because he was stunned into silence by her appearance, and then because he was roughly shoved away by one of her companions.</p><p>“Oh knock it off Demarko!” she’d snapped at the large Italian man who’d pushed Banner against the wall of the tunnel. Turning back to the detective she’d said, “Sorry about that. This one’s girlfriend finally dumped his ass last night and he’s feeling a little vindictive.”</p><p>Banner could only nod and mumble a lame, “No problem,” in response.</p><p>He’d always know the Rings were bad. From the beginning of his investigation he’d know what kind of misery they could bring, but he’d never… he never could have imagined the horror written across this young women’s skin. She was covered in scars from the edge of her scalp to the tips of the fingers that she had wrapped around her guard’s shoulder to pull him off of the detective. ‘Demarko’, as she had called him, had harrumphed and turned to precede her down the tunnel at a heated gate. She had just rolled her eyes and followed the disgruntled man, the other guard shepherding her forward by the small of her back.</p><p>Banner shook himself from the memory. As disturbing as their encounter had been, and as much as he wanted to deny the notion that he had been that close to an original fighter and let her walk right past him, the pieces were slowly falling into place. The day of the bust he’d seen that same young woman mingling with the filches before the hammer fell. And now that Tania mentioned her collar, Banner knew who he’d been chasing through the rain that day. Pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, the detective wanted to smack himself. He’d been so blind.</p><p>“Banner? What is it?” O’Neil asked in concern.</p><p>“The girl O’Neil, the fucking fighter! The one I was chasing after the bust? That was her.”</p><p>His partner’s mouth fell into a surprised ‘oh’ and her brow shot halfway up her forehead. “Oh fuck…” She said slowly, and he heard the cringe in her voice.</p><p>“Yeah, oh fuck! As if this couldn’t be any more of a goat rope!” He met his partner’s eyes and ground his teeth together in frustration. A muffled chuckle brought their attention back to the injured filch and Banner pounced in desperation.</p><p>“Tania!” he said urgently, “what else do you know about the wolf? Anything! Age, ethnicity, hobbies, hell shoe size for all I care! Anything you know about her.” He placed a hand on the railing of her bed, and Tania eyed it, one eyebrow raised. Banner made himself take a breath and removed the hand hastily. Pissing this woman off was the last thing he needed.</p><p>“<em>Come on man</em>,” she finally responded with a pointed look. “<em>she a dog. The only thing we know about em’ is their ring names, stats, and win averages. She’s 5 foot 4, 130 odd pounds. Specializes in Krav maga and jui jit su. It ain’t like she’s never lost, but most mutts have a snowball's chance in hell of beatin’ ‘er. She doesn’t prefer weapons, but she know how to use ‘em</em>.”</p><p>Banner drew in a breath in frustration. “Tania, let’s be real here. You’re a filch-”</p><p>“<em>Was a filch</em>!” she interrupted violently. Her glare was full of fire and pain, and Banner reminded himself that this woman was just as much a victim as the rest of them. Taking a breath, he continued more calmly.</p><p>“Ok,” he conceded softly, “you <em>were</em> a filch; and a damn good one at that. You’ve been in the game a long time. You all talk to the ‘dogs’ pretty frequently. You and the fighters themselves are at the fights more than probably anyone else. I know you know more than that.”</p><p>Tania regarded him coolly, but some of the tense anger left her thin shoulders. “<em>Well,” </em>she began slowly. <em>“I did hear a few guys talkin’ once. They said there was somethin’ ‘off’ about ‘er. Like she knew shit she shouldn’t’ve been able to know. An’ they were right about one thing in the beginning, she definitely tribal. Southern, as far as anyone can tell. She speaks some kinda other language. She didn’t do it often, but she’d swear in it ever’ once in a while during a fight. Don’t know what it is, but it sounds kinda pretty….for cussin’ anyway</em>.”</p><p>“Good,” Banner said softly. “that’s good Tania. Anything else?”</p><p>The former filch looked down to her nails and inspected the chipped manicure. The polish had once been a loud hot pick, but now was dulled and almost completely worn off. “<em>Long time ago I heard her talkin’ to another one of them older dogs. Honey-colored fella, real short hair. Like army cut short.” </em>She waved her hand beside her ear, as if to demonstrate the cropped sides of a military shave and met the detective’s eye briefly. Banner’s hand rose to run his palm over the side of his own short-cropped hair.</p><p><em>“Anyway I heard him say somthin’ like, ‘That Asian bastard!’ and then she said somthin’ about how ‘Him bein’ Asian had nothin’ to do with him bein’ a prick’…. Or maybe it was ‘him bein’ a dick’? I don’t know, either way they both kinda mean the same thing right?</em>”</p><p>She looked to O’Neil, who shrugged and nodded in agreement.</p><p>The partner’s asked a few more questions, but gleaned nothing else of worth from the former filch. It wasn’t long after that that a harried nurse arrived to usher them out of the room, stating that her patient needed rest. With repeated utterances of thanks, the two detectives gathered their notes and began to exit the sterile hospital room.</p><p>“<em>One more thing</em>.” Tania said, her expression grave. It stopped the pair in their tracks.</p><p>“<em>That girl, the wolf? You’d better take her dead or dyin’ pig</em>.”</p><p>“Why do you say that?” Banner asked hesitantly after a pregnant pause. He felt unease once again slip down his spine like a cold, dead finger.</p><p>“<em>You ever seen somthin’ so scary you feel it in your teeth? Somthin’ so wrong it makes you wanna throw up? That girl is one big bucket of fucked up, and she done shit that shouldn’t’ve been possible</em>.”</p><p>It was a foreboding statement, and Banner felt the sudden urge to be as far away from the injured woman, and the rings in general, as possible. “Thank you for your time Tania. We’ll be in touch if—”</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘shouldn’t have been possible’?” O’Neil asked, stepping back into the room. Banner wanted to grab her by the arm and drag her away.</p><p>Tania eyed his partner for a moment. “<em>You know when somebody’s so hurt you just know they gonna’ die? Like, they heart still beatin’, but you might as well go on an’ dig a hole? That bitch got cut near clean in half and is still kickin’. Matter fact, she was back two weeks later, same dog and she beat ‘im so bad he can’t even hold a spoon no more. And she’s ooooold sweetie. That kind a loyalty you can’t buy no more. She’d cut off her arm before she told you who owns her. So like I said, dead or dyin’ honey. That’s the only way ya’ll gonna get her in hand cuffs</em>.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight: A fighting chance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Long one. Let's get ready to rumble!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been three weeks since the bust and things were finally back on schedule. Amara sent another right hook into the swinging bag and puffed out a breath in exertion. She wasn’t technically supposed to be training again, but what Dr. Michaelson didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She rattled off another combination and finished it off with a spin kick. Watching the bag swing violently, Amara stepped back and wiped her brow with the back of her gloved hand.</p><p>True to his word, Gabriel had not given the fighter anything to push her recovery forward, and his admonishments to the Noble had convinced him to at least allow Amara time to recover. The man hadn’t been happy, but Susumu Yaruka was anything but stupid. He knew a good investment when he saw one, and the money he forfeited by not fighting his dog would have been nothing compared to the face he would have lost had she been defeated.</p><p>So Amara had sat on her ass for two weeks and had done her level best to drive both Kane, and her baby sitter of the week Demarko, slowly insane.</p><p>It’s not like she normally <em>enjoys</em> being a pest, but for some reason getting under the macho guard and the prim assistant’s skin made her monotonous days just the slightest bit more tolerable. Four days in they’d finally snapped and dropped her in Marcus’ office with a barked off command of ‘watch her!’ and a ‘fuck you very much, Amara!’.</p><p>The fighter had felt her lips twist to the side in an evil smirk and Marcus had just shaken his head. The mechanic had parked her at a table in the wash bay scrubbing grim off cylinder heads and told her if he saw her even twitch to pick up a tool besides the scrub brush he’d have Stone come in to help her just for spite. Begrudgingly she’d agreed, mostly to keep from adding ‘bruised knuckles’ to her list of injuries that Gabriel was tracking like a bloodhound. To the naked eye she could hide her hurts as easy as breathing, but those damn deep x-ray scans got her every time.</p><p>The day after the bust and the resulting incident with Yaruka had found the fighter getting the third degree from both the compact surgeon and <em>Kane</em> of all people in Gabriel’s office at Clinton Memorial. The doctor she could understand. It was in his job description to take care of people, heal the ailing, do no harm, and all the other Hippocratic bull shit. When her body scan had come back with more red than a freshmen college essay she’d thought the smaller man was going to burst a blood vessel.</p><p>But Kane? <em>His</em> position in Yaruka’s good graces had nothing to do with her ability to fight, so what about her injuries was there to get his silk boxers in a bunch? She’d asked him as much as Gabriel strapped her knee into a cumbersome and restricting metal brace (which she’d immediately contemplated burning), and his only response had been a muddled stream of disjointed words and sputters. Then he’d <em>apologized</em>, of all things, and looked at her like someone had just run over his kitten. She’d made it her mission from that moment on to annoy the assistant until he <em>stopped </em>looking at her like that, and went back to barely tolerating her. Kane’s snark and random acts of kindness she could take, but this worried mother hen routine had to stop. She’d counted it as a personal victory when, three days later, the man had all but flounced out of the garage with Demarko in tough leaving Usui, the greenest new guard and therefore lowest on the totem pole, to watch her for the rest of the day. It had warmed her black little heart to know that she could still cajole a city boy or two even with a bum leg and broken rib.</p><p>At the garage she could at least move her hands over something that was fixable. As much as she enjoyed raiding the noble’s extensive book collection at the penthouse, there wasn’t much left in the library that she hadn’t already re-read twice. And relaxing for too long gave her mind too much time to think. It felt like she had a million steams of thought going per minute when she wasn’t training or conditioning, and the restlessness was driving her insane. Between Kane’s abnormal behavior, Marcus’s continued concern, Yaruka’s tryst into full-on mafia territory, and the problems with the rings (which she kept telling herself weren’t <em>her</em> problem), Amara wanted to either put her fist through a wall or scream; and she couldn’t afford to do either. </p><p>People were just <em>so</em> damned complicated, and trying to souse out motivations and mentalities for too long gave the fighter a headache of epic proportion. Parts on the other hand, well they were easy. No matter how many bolts went into holding a V8 master class hemi together, it all fit where it was supposed to in the end. Every piece had its place, and it only took time and determination to figure them out.</p><p>Having a least her hands occupied for a week was a godsend for the fighter, and with every cylinder head that came clean Amara felt her mind settle into a calmer stream of consciousness. Her thoughts were still a fast-flowing river, marred by rocks and with swift under toughs that could drown the unexpecting, but it was a damn sight better than the walls of white water they had been while trapped in the penthouse.</p><p>And as much as it had irked her to laze around for two weeks, regardless of location, she could tell that her body had needed it. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time.</p><p>Dr. Michaelson had ordered her to take it easy for twice that amount of time, but a four-week break was just not in the cards for the dog. No, it wasn’t pride that had pushed Amara back into the gym before the doctors imposed deadline, but necessity.</p><p>It had taken Carlos a full week to get his ducks in enough of a row to begin contacting personnel other than owners. After blowing enough perfume up their collective asses to soothe the ruffled feathers, he’d broken Amara’s boredom briefly by calling in the dogs to get input on new pit locations and set up a new rotation schedule. The ring master wasn’t a fool, and he knew the fighters themselves were the best resources he had when it came to finding locations that would be ‘unfindable’ to anyone who wasn’t in the know. Namely the FED.</p><p>Every investor they had had been kicked out on their ass after Banner’s infiltration, and the ones that were stubborn enough to stick around were being vetted out the ass so strongly that Carlos now had blackmail from the poor sons of bitches primary school days. The filches and vendors hadn’t been an issue. They took care of their own, and with Tania’s bloody tongue still fresh in everyone’s mind the herd had been culled somewhat of the more faint of heart.</p><p>Pushing in to week two, after a sorry ass fight held by Ring 1 near Flushing, they’d had three more feasible locations for Ring 3 and one concrete meeting place.</p><p>Amara would miss the warehouse to some degree. It had been one of the first ring locations back in the beginning. Drake and Aaron’s first fight had been there, and she could still remember the short and bespectacled brunette’s proud smile from across the concrete floors as he’d pinned the former marine. She’d taught him that same bow and arrow choke the week before, and in that moment she’d never been more proud of their ragtag little group of street dogs. Back then, when their collars had still been shiny new, if fifty people showed up for a fight it was a big night. Now, Carlos was having to figure out how to sneak stadium seating and VIP boxes into gutted apartment complexes and a rundown church on the west side. </p><p>By Wednesday things were looking promising for a return to business as usual by week's end…but then word had come through that Tania had more guts than anyone had given her credit for. She’d talked to the FED. Banner himself, if word of mouth was to be trusted, and in the rings there wasn’t much else you could count on.</p><p>The higher-ups hadn’t cared. What was one filch’s word, and filch who hadn’t even seen them for that matter, against the power of the Noble class? Nothing. Carlos and his boys had been out for blood though. Betrayal wasn’t looked upon favorably in the streets of Midtown, and the former padre had nearly sent someone in to take a hand on top to her tongue in retribution. Amara had been able to talk him out of it though.</p><p>“There’s no use putting you and your enforcers out in the open for this.” She’d told him, gimping after him in her brace as he stalked from the old petrol station that was serving as their new congregation point. “You’ve already sent your message, and the filches are scared enough. You do this and we’ll lose more than a few weak ones, and the FEDs gonna hammer down harder than they already have. I told you about Banner and you didn’t listen. You want to add another fuck up to your ledger this soon after a bust?”</p><p>The man had wrinkled his nose and ran the tip of his tongue over the gold cap on his canine, but he’d relented none the less. Like she’d said, the man wasn’t stupid. Carlos had been head of <em>Los Mapaches</em> for years before the gang had been dissolved into the rings, and you didn’t get to be the head of Trinity’s largest crew by sheer dumb luck.</p><p>“Fine,” He’d bit out in reply. “The <em>puta</em> gets to keep her paws. But you hear me <em>mujer</em>, any more mistakes like this and I will pull my boys and the Nobles can start cleaning up the shit. Mi madre didn’t bring me here from Barcelona to work for other men. I am Carlos de la Rosa Dominguez, and <em>I</em> run these rings. Make sure your <em>hombre japonés</em> knows that.”</p><p>And that was the fucking last thing she needed, a pissing contest between Carlos and Yaruka. In the end, if push came to shove, the nobles would win. They always did, but no noble in their right mind would <em>actually</em> want the rings under their control. Sure, it would fulfill their self-serving, manic control complexes…but it would also put the whole thing on their head if the fights were ever busted by the FED or the New Alliance. And after the Franklin Uprising…well, it was pretty fucking clear that no one who had even a shred of self-preservation instinct would want to go toe to toe with the NA any time in the next century. Owning a dog was one thing. Penalties for condoning violence against other humans were hefty, but to pilot the whole operation where humans died in mass? As a member of the Noble class that was suicide.</p><p>At the end of the day the owners needed Carlos. They needed his men, his power, and his control over the common people of Trinity. And whether he wanted to admit it or not Carlos needed the Nobles. He’d gotten used to the lifestyle he had on the politicians’ dime, and there was no going back for a man like the padre.</p><p>Carlos de la Rosa Dominguez did not compromise…and that’s what had him scared. He’d screwed the pooch with this last bust and he was scrambling to find his equilibrium again. And just like any man in power who couldn’t afford to look scared, he was lashing out in anger to cover up the fact that he was near pissing himself behind closed doors. Amara saw it plain as day. So, to nip the conflict between the two overpowered toddlers in the bud, she’d thrown Carlos something shiny he couldn’t refuse.</p><p>“Alright, fine. You want to prove you’re still the big man on campus? Schedule me as the headliner next fight.”</p><p>She’d known the first fight was shot. It had already been Thursday, and in no way would she have been ready to jump back in the pit by Saturday and give any kind of passable performance.</p><p>“Your owner doesn’t fight you as a headliner girl. You know he doesn’t do that.” Carlos had eyed her warily, and crossed his muscular arms over the black and gold crucifix that hung heavy from his neck.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Some bull shit about his property not being a circus show. Whatever. You know as well as I do the headline slot brings in the most cash. No caps on the bets.”</p><p>“Which is why I agreed to pull you in the first place.” Carlos responded, giving her a cool look through narrowed hazel eyes. “Pride might be why Yaruka doesn’t want you in that slot, but it served better for us all in the end. The gap between VIP bets and everyone else was getting ridiculous. You’re docked at a cool mill from the boxes and 40K around the pit for a reason <em>mujer</em>.”</p><p>“Look,” Amara said, drawing on her patience. Tap-dancing on eggshells was not in her usual repertoire, but handling Carlos when he had his back up sometimes called for some ego-stroking. “I’m not saying I should be your show pony from here on out. I’m talking one fight. First one back in and then I go back to going first or last.”</p><p>“And why would I do that huh?”The man sucked on his teeth, but from the tilt of his head Amara knew he was listening. “Piss off your man and make a spectacle of just getting back to work. Fah!”</p><p>“It sends a message, <em>cabrón</em>.” The fighter replied, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows Yaruka doesn’t fight me headline. So who made that call, eh? You señor Dominguez. <em>Tu eres padre aqui</em>.”</p><p>The ringmaster regarded her coolly again, but she could see the wheels in his head-turning. Regardless of how they’d met, Amara had come to begrudgingly respect the padre over the last four years. He was ambitious, determined, and more honest by half than most of the people in the business. He had never even tried to go back on the promise he had given the originals all those years ago, and he cared deeply about his men. Carlos was a criminal, for sure, but she’d trust him over Yaruka any day and had done so in the past.</p><p>“Fine.” The man had finally responded, fingering the cross around his neck once more. “Tell señor Yaruka you are fighting headline in the next fight. The church on 5<sup>th</sup> will most likely be the first location ready.”</p><p>Breathing a mental sigh in relief, Amara had smirked in reply and said, “Location’s a little ironic don’t you think, <em>padre</em>?”</p><p>Carlos returned her smirk and dropped the cross to his chest, where it bounced against his black shirt. “The Lord always provides, girl” he’d replied, and crossed himself in a practiced motion.</p><p>As much as the term <em>padre</em> was used as a term of respect for the gang boss, it was also a title well earned by the man before he came to Trinity. Carlos had been a lay minister at San Miguel cathedral upstate for a time before <em>Los Mapaches</em>, and his faith was still a thing the man held to, regardless of his current occupation. </p><p>Amara had just shaken her head and crossed her arms across her chest with an amused chuckle.</p><p>“Now get out of here <em>mujer</em>.” He said, turning and resuming his exit from the petrol station. “Be a good <em>perro</em> for once.”</p><p>Amara cocked an eyebrow at his back and, sarcastically muttered “<em>Perdóname padre, porque he pecado</em>.”</p><p>Carlos had barked a laugh at that.</p><p>“<em>Pendeja</em>!” he’d thrown over his shoulder in reply, and then the man was gone.</p><p>……………………………</p><p>Convincing Yaruka that her move to headline was a compliment, and not a spit in the face, had been easier than Amara had thought it was going to be. Telling the Nobel that Carlos had “suggested” that she take headline slot, a place of honor <em>certainly</em>, as an apology for the improper handling of the FED infiltration had preened the man’s sense of principle and entitlement.  Bowing her pretty little head while she’d passed the message through Kane hadn’t hurt either. She’d hidden her satisfied smirk behind a tucked chin and curved in shoulder blades as Yaruka had agreed to ‘<em>accept Mr. Domiguez’s sincere request for forgiveness’ </em>by allowing her to be a dancing monkey just this once.</p><p>She’d jumped back in the gym the next day and had worked out the weeks of frustration and stress on the weight rack and heavy bag. Amara <em>hated </em>playing the games of emotional manipulation. Juggling peoples’ pride and emotions by slithering her way through conversations and confrontations made her sick at herself. She felt slimy and rotten. Manipulative and deceitful, even when she was conning those who were just as dishonest, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth. It didn’t help that she was <em>good</em> at it, and it made her hate part of herself even more than she already did.</p><p><strong><em>But I’m better at this</em></strong>, she thought to herself with a satisfied nod at the still swinging bag. <strong><em>I’m better at being a dog than I am at being a snake</em></strong>.</p><p>Wiping the sweat from her eyes with a small hand towel, Amara snagged her water bottle from the padded floor and walked over to the low-slung bench across the room. She tore off the Velcro on her training gloves with her teeth and dumped a good portion of the bottle over her head. The gym she trained in was actually a walled-off section of a larger facility two blocks down from Yaruka’s office building. It was a state of the art facility, and after hours she had access to the whole place, pool and spa included.</p><p>But if she wanted to train at a decent time of day she had to limit herself to only a few rooms that had been left behind when the gym was renovated, and thus had never been reconnected to the air conditioning units for the building. Needless to say, it was sweltering in the Midtown early summer.</p><p>The fighter wicked the water from her eyes once more and slung the towel over her shoulder. Glancing in the mirror on the far wall, she caught sight of poor Usui melting against the back wall. His back was to the door and he still stood at a formal ‘at ease’ stance, but his jacket had been removed long ago and sweat now darkened his white dress shirt under his arms and at the small of his back. His usually artistically styled black hair hung limp at his forehead and the fighter read misery behind his eyes.</p><p>“Hey Usui,” she called to the fledgling bodyguard. “loosen up a little bit dude. You keep standing there like you're constipated and locking your knees like that you’re gonna pass out at your post, man.”</p><p>The pup looked up at her in surprise. <strong><em>Yes</em></strong>, she thought sarcastically. <strong><em>It speaks!</em></strong></p><p>He did bend his legs a little bit though, and Amara took that for the win that it was. Usui might have been a damn sight better then Tyler, whom he had replaced on Yaruka’s payroll, but he still had a hell of a lot to learn. Shaking her head and rolling her eyes Amara sighed in exasperation and made her way over to the showers. A quick rinse in ice-cold water removed the sweat from her body and soothed her work-worn muscles.</p><p>Exiting the shower, she dried herself and dressed in her usual. It wouldn’t be long before the weather got too hot for even her to stand it in the gym during daylight. Even as far East as Midtown was, the sun was still murder in the high of summer. The average temperature of the planet was slowly creeping back down, but they were all still paying for the near-catastrophic atmospheric damage that had been wrought in the years before the war. Much like the Cuban missile crisis, the world had been but a mere 0.001-degree centigrade away from complete environmental failure, and resulting cataclysm. But, by the grace of Katuwa, some international agreement or other had led to a unified strike on one of the more heavily populated countries, and well, a few carpet-bombing later, the world had been saved from being crushed by whoever’s carbon footprint.</p><p>Sad thing was, that hadn’t even been the goal of the strike in the first place. Ironically, the country had been attacked so that the allied forces could, wait for it…<em>get more oil</em>. God the past had been so screwy.</p><p>Exiting the showers, she collected her pitiable and overheated bodyguard and headed up the rickety staircase to the ground level access point. A metal door with peeling green paint emptied into a side alley off the main drag on the south side of the building. Usui propped the door open and glanced both ways down said alley, gun drawn and far too paranoid for Amara to not roll her eyes at. The kid had promise, but was still jumpy as hell.</p><p>“I appreciate your due diligence dude, but I very highly doubt anyone is going to try and whack me outside a public gym in broad daylight.”</p><p>Usui whipped his head around and his brows drew down in confusion. “But, the alley…” he trailed off and Amara suppressed a sigh.  “It’s still a public space kid. This might be the nobles’ city, but the NA have eyes everywhere, and this is Yaruka’s part of town. We’re two blocks from his office. Do the math.”</p><p>The boy looked down, slightly chagrined and sheepish. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know the rubrics of the street. He came from a lower class noble family that was associated with Yaruka and probably had delusions of adventure and grandeur about being the guard of a high noble’s personal fighter. In reality Amara thought it must have been a pretty boring gig. Watching her train all day and then babysitting her as they traveled from point A to point B. Definitely not the most exhilarating time of the poor kid’s life.</p><p><strong><em>Well,</em></strong> Amara thought to herself, <strong><em>that is until a FED swat team dropped in on your head</em></strong>. She smiled to herself, remembering Tyler nearly shitting himself at the bust. Talk about a job that went from zero to sixty real damn fast.</p><p>She glanced at the dejected youth and, releasing her sigh this time, Amara amended her statement as they stepped out into the alley. “It doesn’t mean you don’t need to keep your head on a swivel. That’s a good rule of thumb for any situation, but the gun can stay in hiding till you actually need the damned thing. Trust me, the best thing you’re gonna accomplish with that piece out right now is terrifying some poor street vendor and maybe getting the FED called on your ass.”</p><p>He looked reluctant, but eventually stowed his piece in the holster at the small of his back. “So,” she asked patting the kid’s shoulder is what she hoped was a show of support. “where to now pup?”</p><p>Usui cleared his throat awkwardly, but Amara thought she caught the hint a smile there. “Well, you’ve got a free afternoon mostly, but Noble Yaruka sama wants you at the office at 5 pm.” They turned down the alley away from the main road and slipped between the gym building and an adjoining apartment complex. It was cooler out in the open air and mostly pleasant in the shade of the two huge buildings. Amara glanced up at the sky and then threw her arms up to stretch out her well-worked shoulders. </p><p>“Well, it's 3 now. Better just to head on over. I can just chill in the guard's lounge. Might as well try to scrape some pocket change off the top of Hill’s paycheck.”</p><p>Usui glanced up at the sky as well, then down at the watch on his wrist. He seemed to fight himself for a moment before his curiosity won out.</p><p>“How did you do that?” he asked, incredulously.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Know what time it is. You’re not wearing a watch.”</p><p>“Oh...” she paused for a moment stretched her neck out from side to side. She’d forgotten for a moment that she still had quite a few oddities that Usui hadn’t learned to write off as just ‘southern quirks’ yet. “The sun’s placement. You can tell what time it is based on where it’s at on its elliptical.”</p><p>Usui glanced back up at the sun and contemplated it for a moment. His eyes fell back to her and his left brow lifted in a look that would have been more appropriate if she had just sprouted a second head. Amara felt herself squirm under the young man’s scrutiny. Feeling like she needed to explain herself, she said, “We didn’t have much access to watches in the south before the FU, and now, well, it would just get in the way during a fight.” The fledgling guard seemed to accept that, and fell silent.</p><p>They continued down the narrow path between the buildings until they reached a chain-link fence that Usui eyed dubiously. Amara showed him where the fencing pulled aside with a grin and they both twisted through the small opening. Cutting across two blocks, they came upon the back of the Myers tower. An angular complex made up of shinny windows and polished steel girders. The tower tapered slightly from the ground up, making it look even taller than it was, and giving a ground observer the distinct feeling of being an ant staring up at a raised boot. It wasn’t the most beautiful business complex in Midtown, but it <em>was</em> the most intimidating. Amara was convinced that was precisely why her owner chose to work here.</p><p>They crossed through a small parking deck and into the main building through a side door only accessible by key card, which Usui pulled from his inner breast pocket. Amara had resigned herself to never walking through the front door of a building again a little more than a year ago when she and Lloyd had tried it once after a particularly bad fight, and had nearly sent a Noble’s aid into cardiac arrest. Whether it was Lloyd’s gun or just the fighter’s bloody face that had made the poor girl faint, Amara would never know, but she made it a rule of thumb to try and keep as low of a profile as she could anyway. </p><p>After a brief elevator ride up to Yaruka’s swath of floors, the pair made their way through a set of sleek glass doors into the Noble’s main office. Amara waved at Misa, Yaruka’s secretary and tried not to be offended by her nervous wave back. The woman was uneasy around the fighter even to this day, despite Amara’s best attempts to seam anodyne in her presence. </p><p>On their way down the main row of offices Usui suddenly asked, “Why Hill?”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>Turning, the guard opened a door on the quieter end of the hallway leading into a small break room. “Why try to gamble with Hill? He’s the oldest and most experienced out of all of us. Well, him and Lloyd, who’s a close second. DeMarko or Mathur seem like the easier targets.”</p><p>Amara nodded in understanding and crossed the room to sprawl on a low-slung couch next to the coffee machine “Ah,” she said in a wise voice. “That’s where you’re mistaken young one. Mathur is far craftier then anyone gives him credit for. A sweet guy on most days, but a regular snake in the grass when he wants to be. Plus, his wife would have my head if I raked in any of her kids’ college tuition. Sonia Mathur scares me shitless kid, and she should you too.”</p><p>Usui gave his own nod of understanding and took off his suit jacket to hang it on the conveniently placed coat rack by the door. As if summoned, Mathur himself walked through the door and greeted his college politely. “Good afternoon Usui san, Amara.” He nodded in the fighter’s direction and then proceeded to make himself a cup of coffee.</p><p>“Afternoon Mathur, how’re the kids? I was just telling Usui here what a shark you are at the poker table.”</p><p>“Ha!” The man barked out a laugh as he loosened his bright purple tie. It contrasted well with his copper-toned skin and brought out the spark in his almond-shaped eyes. “I haven’t had to flex those muscles in a while, but as I recall you weren’t too bad yourself Amara.”</p><p>The fighter held her hands up in capitulation. “Guilty.”</p><p>Amara glanced back to Usui, who had fallen quiet in the presence of a senior guard. He was obviously still nervous in his new job, and Amara could feel that he wanted to say something else. Gathering himself, the younger man asked, “What about DeMarko?”</p><p>“Eh,” she responded, “too easy.”</p><p>Mathur arched a brow at her dubiously and Usui took in the expression as he crossed the room to snag a soda water from the ridge. “He won’t play with you anymore, will he?” he asked with a small smile. Amara grinned at him innocently, but knew there were too many teeth for him to buy it. “See kid,” she told him, tone infused with approval. “Now you’re getting it.”</p><p>The three spent a while in companionable conversation, and Mathur revealed that her poker game with Hill would have to wait. Mathur had just come off shift with Yaruka and Hill had taken his place with Smith. The poor man wouldn’t be off until the noble closed business for the day.</p><p>Amara had taken it upon herself to teach Usui poker when she found out the pup had never played before, so they were in the middle of a game when Kane poked his head through the door. The assistant did a double-take when saw the fighter sitting at the break room table.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked brows drawn down in consternation.</p><p>“Good to see you too Kane” the fighter responded blandly, not looking up from her cards. “How’s the girlfriend? I’m just here, doing my earthly best to serve queen and country. So nice of you as to inquire about my wellbeing.”</p><p>Mathur snorted a laugh and Kane sputtered on a curse. “Son of a— Okay fine smart ass, how are you?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m just peachy.” She responded, glancing up to meet his eye with a smirk as the man properly stepped into the room. He crossed over to their game table and pulled a chair out to sit in it backward. “But seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked, tossing his phone onto the table.</p><p>“Our Lord and savior has requested my presence at precisely 5pm, if you must know.” She responded, glancing over at Usui’s cards and nodding in approval. Turning back to the assistant she said, “There’s a fight tomorrow Kane, in which I’m fighting headliner. What do you think he wants me here for?”</p><p>Kane nodded in understanding and looked over Mathur’s shoulder to peek at his cards, who swiftly batted the blonde man away.</p><p>“Why does he want you here?” Usui asked shyly. He was fumbling with his cards, and Amara was trying to figure out a way to use his obvious lack of poker face to her advantage.</p><p>“Hmm?” she hummed in response, tossing a chip in the pot. </p><p>“Um, I mean—” the young guard stuttered, eyeing Kane with what could have been described as fangirl aw. It wasn’t often that a lowly handler from a Downtown family rose up to become a high noble’s personal assistant. The fact that he had done so in just a little over a year gave Kane a nearly rock star-like appeal with the younger guards; particularly those who wanted to emulate the man’s diminutive rise to power. And wouldn’t that kind of hero-worship just go straight to Kane's head like a shot helium when he found out about it?</p><p>It seemed Usui was no different from the others. The pup continued, after gathering himself for a moment. “It seems important…and I…I want to do my job well.” The young man’s eyes fell from Kane over to Amara. “So….why does Noble Yaruka Sama want you here?”</p><p>The fighter didn’t look up from her cards, but she felt both Kane and Mathur tense slightly at the question. “He’s going to give me ‘The Talk’”. She replied, fingering the silver buckle of her collar.“The ‘<em>You will bring honor to my name or so help me god you’ll be wishing you had died in the ring</em>’ talk. Happens all the time.”</p><p>The table fell quiet, but not for long. It seemed their friendly round of cards was making Usui come out of his shell, or maybe his curiosity was just too great.</p><p>“He doubts you.”</p><p>It wasn’t a question, but Amara heard the request for a response there. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like giving him one. When Amara didn’t reply Kane picked up, shifting awkwardly in his chair.</p><p>“Amara’s good Usui,” he began slowly, eyes tracking between Amara and the younger man. “Really good. But no one is perfect. It’s not that he doubts her abilities, it’s just that…” the assistant trailed off and Amara sighed.</p><p> Folding her hand (they were shit cards anyway) she and said, “He wants to make sure I still remember who’s boss and who’s got the cord around her neck. I’m a dog, kid, and that means I perform well or get smacked across the nose. If I piss the floor or chew up the furniture I get kicked outside in the cold. That’s just how this shit works Usui.” She turned to the younger man and met his confused eyes. “The sooner you start looking at me and seeing a German shepherd or a fucking Labrador instead of a human, the easier this gig is gonna be for you.”</p><p>At that the room fell silent. The air was stifled and tangy with melancholy. Amara, not wanting to fall into a bad mood charged through the suddenly awkward air. Turning back to Kane she said, “Hey, you never answered my question. How’s Sarah?”</p><p>Kane took her change of topic and ran with it. “That’s because it’s none of your damned business.”</p><p>Amara kicked her boots up on the table and leaned her chair back on two legs as far as it would go. “Oh, come on now Kane.” She said teasingly, crossing her arms loosely across her stomach. “Don’t be a spoilsport. I want to know more about the woman that made you willingly smell like a strawberry.”</p><p>“Wait, what!?” Mathur exclaimed incredulously, throwing his cards down on the table as well. “Oh, this I have to know about!”</p><p>Kane’s head thunked down on the back of the chair he straddled. “Screw you Amara…”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah pretty boy. You know you love me.”</p><p>Kane raised his head just enough to glare at her from under his fringe of sandy hair. Amara just chuckled in reply, and reached across the table to snag Mathur’s cards. Pair of aces. Fucking sneak. </p><p>………………….</p><p> </p><p>The next night found Amara in a much less jovial atmosphere and with her mind far away from a chummy poker game with the guys. She leaned against the railing of an old choir booth overlooking the pit that had been set into the basement of the church. Long silent organ pipes rose around her ominously on both sides. The crowd below murmured in the pre-fight stillness. People still trickled into the ground level seating. Many of these seats were actually still worship pews scavenged from the guts of the old cathedral. The angles and crosses carved into the armrests had given more than a few people a chuckle. The VIP boxes, in contrast, had been filled an hour ago. Faceless specters watched from behind tinted glass, moving in a formless blur between boxes. They’d been built into the old balcony seating. Trust Carlos to find the one abandoned megachurch in Midtown to host a fight in.</p><p>“You nervous?” Kane’s voice came from behind her as he approached the rail.</p><p>“Not especially.” She replied, fingering her collar and staring down into the sand-covered floor of the ring. “Don’t know who the dog’s gonna be, but I haven’t been this rested in a while.”</p><p>The assistant stepping up to her right and leaned a casual elbow on the ornately carved oak. His mouth was turned down at the corners and the silk dress shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows. He looked immaculate as ever, but his eyes held a disquiet and tension that belayed the put-together facade.</p><p>“It’s still a headline.” He said, drumming his fingers on the rail. “It’s bound to be an interesting fight. Any idea if weapons are going to be allowed?”</p><p>“Probably?” Amara responded with a shrug. “Carlos didn’t say, and if I know him we won’t know until something’s thrown into our hands in the tunnels, but if I had to guess?” The fighter turned to the assistant and spread her hands in a knowing gesture toward the pit. “This is gonna be a straight street brawl. Fists and teeth only.”</p><p>Kane nodded slowly chewed on his lower lip in contemplation. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.” He said eventually.</p><p>Amara snorted. “You obviously haven’t been here in a while. When was the last time you stayed for a fight anyway?”</p><p>“Couple of months ago maybe?” he replied with a shrug. “The one with the barbed wire.”</p><p>It surprised Amara that he remembered that fight. Or any of them, to be honest. They all sort of became a blur to her after the first year, but then again, decapitation wasn’t something you saw every day, even as a dog. Amara’s hand came up to trace the still raised line below her collar bone.</p><p>“Yeah…That was a hell of a fight. I doubt we’ll do anything fancy tonight though. Carlos just wants to get back to business, and it's big enough news that I’m fighting headliner anyway. The bets are going to go through the roof, and Carlos ain’t gonna risk screwing that up by throwing us in there with katanas or chainsaws or something like that.”</p><p>There were three fights before the headline slot and then three or four afterward. Generally, Amara fought first or last. First was nice, because it meant she might get to leave before the whole affair was over if Yaruka got bored enough with the rest of the matches. But the first round was also usually the bloodiest. People were hungry for violence, and that first fight was frequently the first splash of blood across a thirsty beast tongue. The crowd went mad for the first dog to draw blood, so therefore these fights were generally quick and gory. Thus the barbed wire.</p><p>Last was normally less bloodthirsty, but was generally longer and sometimes had some kind of whacked-out twist thrown in. Carlos claimed this kept the crowd interested and kept asses in seats until the very last blow was dealt, but Amara was somewhat convinced that it was actually an excuse just to feed the inner sadist in the padre and give it a ‘creative’ outlet. Whatever it was, the last fight slot was always a tossup between a marathon and the insane. Amara had once seen a round go for two hours; an unimaginable time given that seconds felt like an eternity in the pit. She herself had almost dropped into the hands of Katuwa to sleep the great sleep in a show-closing match a couple of years ago. The sheer number of fighters that had been involved in that match, and the wickedly curved hunting knives they’d been instructed to use had made for a bloody mess of a mêlée, but the crowd had loved it. The gutting mark that ran across her stomach was a staunch reminder.</p><p>The headline slot, on the other hand, was all about theatricality. Music and lights pumped up to the mob as dogs entered the ring to choruses of their names. Much like a boxing match or wrestling rounds of old, the dogs fighting headline were all about their names, their fight stats, and signature fighting styles. It was a circus show, plain and simple. If it didn’t make her hackles raise and bile rise to the back of her mouth on principle, she would have had to agree with her owner in thinking them ridiculous.</p><p>Below them, the lights dimmed and came back up, and the throng of people fell quiet. Carlos walked calmly to the middle of the ring and began his introduction.</p><p>“Welcome, mi amigos! It has been some time no?”</p><p>A murmur of assent rose from the crowd and a rowdy filch named Dylan could be heard screaming, “Fuck yeah it has! God damned pigs!” from the front row of seat. The other filches howled with laughter.</p><p>Carlos chuckled and then continued. “Si si my friends. The FED did try to run us under, but we still stand, do we not!?”</p><p>A roar was his answer. The padre grinned, his gold tooth glinting in the half-light. “Enough with this then. Now, who of you wants to see a dog fight!?!” The roar picked up an octave. Amara could feel the vibrations through the arching rafters of the gutted house of god. “Then let us begin! Tonight we get back to business with a special offering. The wolf will be fighting headline as she has not for some time. Remember mi amigos, there are no bars on bets for the headline fight, so find your nearest filch and put some money in your future!”</p><p>The filches whistled and hooted. Carlos continued to introduce the fights, but Amara tuned him out. Turning to Kane she asked, “You think you’re gonna stay and watch this one?”</p><p>He paused for a moment and licked his lips. “Yeah, I think I will.”</p><p>“Well then,” The fighter pushed herself away from the railing with a grunt. “I better head down.”</p><p>A mute nod was the assistant’s only reply.</p><p>………………………</p><p>The first fight went to Rachel, a brunet girl with wide hips who knew how to use them. A newer dog named Cierra fell to her mostly due to cockiness and lack of experience. She was physically a stronger dog, but Rachel was ruthless when she wanted to be and the uppity pup had no chance. The second bout went more sideways. Peter was a dog that had been in the game for about a year. He was wiry and quick. Lethal with a switchblade and trained in back streets of Downtown where he’d been fending for himself since he was fifteen. Noble Path’s dog, on the other hand, was huge. A refrigerator of a man who was obviously on some kind of upper 90% of the time he was awake. It was a messy fight. Peter danced around for nearly an hour, steadily tiring out the bigger man, but he got careless in his own exhaustion. A heavy punch to the side of Peter’s head had him down in one, and if it weren’t for some quick action on the part of Carlos’ boys in stopping Plath’s roided out behemoth, he would have been out for good. The next round was a wrestling match between Clay and Hiram; both stocky men who Amara had known for a while. They hadn’t been original dogs, but they <em>had</em> been some of the southerner’s first friends in Midtown. Circumstances had lead both of them to the life in Amara’s footsteps, and she was still trying to figure out if she hated herself for opening that door to them. It had given them both purpose and a goal beyond selling stolen cannabis vials in back alleys, but it had also put them in a whole heap of danger. She’d helped to train them herself though, so she knew they both could handle themselves. They weren’t going to try and kill one another, and they knew how to give a good enough show to appease both the crowd and their owners.</p><p>They were tough on each other, and ultimately Clay called uncle after a pretty nasty armbar courtesy of Hiram, but in the end they both walked from the ring little worse for the wear. She nodded at them both as they passed through the tunnel on their way out. If she was lucky she’d get to catch up with them in the clinic that had been set up in an old Sunday school classroom down the hall. If not…well at least she knew they were both doing well.</p><p>And then it was her turn. The lights dimmed and suddenly the atmosphere changed from a jovial spectators' playland to that of the almost oppressive expectation of an audience awaiting a Shakespearian drama. Omar, one of Carlos’ lieutenants, came to retrieve her from the holding cell where she’d been carefully stretching out every muscle. They walked together to the end of what had once been a row of storerooms, what was now a tunnel emptying into the pit from either side, and he placed an arm on her bicep to make her pause at the panel of chain link fence that had been erected to separate the tunnel from the ring. Another one of Carlos’ men, Martin, came forward out of the shadows to slowly pull the gate aside. The padre himself entered from the opposite tunnel and stepped to the center of the sand-covered floor.</p><p>“It is time my friends!” he proclaimed in a ringmaster's voice. “Tonight, fighting for your enjoyment in our headline match from the tribal lands of the south we have a girl standing just 5 foot 4 inches tall and 132 pounds. She is known from the docks of Downtown all the way to the towers of the Uptown business district. You know her as the wolf!”</p><p>A base heavy song began to play from the rafters of the cathedral. The lights lifted and the crowd screamed above her. Omar gave her a gentle push forward, to which the fighter responded with a growl and a sharp-toothed snarl. Omar stepped back, his hands raised in apology and his eyes wide. <strong><em>Good</em></strong>, the dog thought to herself. <strong><em>Remember who you’re dealing with, pendejo</em></strong>.</p><p>Amara turned, and stepped into the ring. The sand shifted beneath her bare feet.</p><p>Carlos gave her sharp toothed grin, to which she responded with a simple nod. Around her the people hissed. Some booed and others cheered in flagrant excitement. Amara blocked it all out. She had never been a dog to howl for the pleasure of the mob. She had never panted or wagged her tail for their amusement. No, she left that up to the more theatric dogs. Some respected her for her reserve, and others thought her boring. Whatever they thought though, she was one of the most highly ranked fighters in the rings history, and <em>everyone</em> respected that.</p><p>Across from her, a shape loomed in the dark of the tunnel. As one song faded and another, more electronic sounding one began, it began to shift from side to side, readying itself for its entrance.</p><p><strong><em>Crap</em></strong>… Amara thought to herself as the song continued to build. She recognized this song, and if her suspicions were right this was going to be a <em>loooong</em> fight.</p><p>“And facing her tonight, a man standing 5 foot 10 inches tall and weighing in at a solid 225 we have the Mastiff!”</p><p><strong><em>Fuck</em></strong>.</p><p>Her opponent stepping into the ring and Amara felt venom pool at the back of her mouth. Paul was an ugly son of a bitch. Little to no hair on the top of his head and a spidery beard and goatee combined to make him look like a poorly drawn caricature of a bad movie villain. He was stocky in the chest, and his neck tapered down into the shoulders at such a wide-angle as to almost not be existent. He wasn’t as heavily built as most other male dogs, but he was devious and cruel. Where another dog would back off to allow their opponent time to recuperate or go for a disabling blow rather than a lethal one, Paul held no such regard for his fellow fighters. He relished in the humiliation of others, and his eyes held an insanity that had only been fed on blood and violence over his time as a fighter in the pits. He was owned by Noble Wigget, a maggot of a man himself, who only encouraged his fighter’s instability and specifically loved matching him against females.</p><p>Paul stepped into the ring and raised his fists triumphantly into the air. He returned the crowd's roar with gusto and flashed his teeth in a hungry smile. The mob ate it up.</p><p>This wasn’t going to be an easy fight. Amara would find no quick victory here and, resigning herself to a long haul uphill, she opened her senses to start gathering the information she’d need.</p><p>Paul was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and Kevlar knit cargo pants. Dogs weren’t allowed body armor, because where was the fun in that? So they’d improvised in their everyday attire where they could. The pants weren’t bulletproof, but they’d stop a blade if there wasn’t enough force behind it, and as it looked, Paul had gone the extra mile in padding the clothing about the thighs and knees. He still wore his boots. His first mistake. They’d give him little to no traction in the sand, and would slow down his footwork. As soon as Amara had seen the sand from the choir booth she’d known to ditch her own in the holding cell.</p><p>His collar was loose as well. The black leather had golden geometric patterns etched into its surface and, being the douche bag that he was, Paul had gone the extra mile of adding on short, nub-like golden spike around the outer edges. <strong><em>Flashy and useless by definition</em></strong>, Amara thought scathingly. The thick golden buckle that secured the whole mess rested heavily just below his Adam’s apple.</p><p>He wore it the way most dogs did in their leisure. Not choking at every deep breath was definitely a plus, but in a fight Amara always tightened hers to where it rested flush with her skin. Loose enough not to constrict her breathing, but no one was getting a finger under the blasted thing to choke her with it. Another mistake on his part.</p><p>Paul was obsessive when his back got up. Not a stupid man, or even overconfident, but when he got to be one-tracked in a fight he lost part of the sadistic cunning he was famous for. He was aggressive when aggravated, and his thirst for more than just the win made him vulnerable. Noble Wigget, and by extension his dog, wanted to be illustrious. They wanted all attention and praise to be focused squarely on them. When that was threatened, when Paul was embarrassed, all hell broke loose. That was his vulnerability. That’s where she had to strike first.</p><p>Amara took a deep breath in and settled herself into a grounded stance, feet a little more than shoulder-width apart and right leg back with her hands raised in a loose fisted guard. The introduction by Carlos, which she’d tuned out for the most part, was coming to a close.</p><p>“And so with that, ladies and gentlemen, I say <em>begin</em>!”</p><p>The padre made a hasty retreat to the tunnel behind Amara and she heard the chainlike rattle as it was slammed back into place. Across the sand, Paul leered at her.</p><p>Breaking her normal façade of cool indifference, Amara let her lips part and smirked back in response. The twisted, toothy grin threw the other dog for a moment, and he frowned as he stalked to her left. Amara slid to her right, mirroring his movement as her feet made track marks in the sand. Above them, the audience’s cheering hushed and a dull murmur rose in its wake. They circled each other steadily, drawing closer as the tension built between them. A knife's edge drawn against taught skin. <strong><em>Any second now….</em></strong></p><p>Paul lunged forward with a kick to her side. <strong><em>There!</em></strong></p><p>Amara ducked the kick and rose just as he planted the foot and rotated around to deliver another with the opposite leg.</p><p><strong><em>Not good enough</em></strong>.</p><p>Paul’s foot skidded on the sand and his ankle rolled in a valiant attempt to keep him upright. As a result, the second kick went low and haywire, and Amara was easily able to catch the limb in the crook of her elbow and trap it to her side. The leg was hers, and she barked out a laugh in the seething dog’s face.</p><p>Paul growled at her in indignation and pulled with his thigh to try and throw her off balance. He himself was still too unsteady for the maneuver to work, however, and Amara flashed her teeth in pleasure. Using the momentum he had so graciously provided, she drove a palm strike into the man’s throat, under the fist he had raised to instinctively protect his face, and felt Paul’s larynx spasm under her fingers. Behind her palm the man choked and retched.</p><p>Despite the hit Paul sent a brutal cross in the direction of her face in retaliation, but Amara dropped his leg unexpectedly and used her now free left arm to deflect the blow to her shoulder. Grabbing the buckle of his collar with the hand that was still at his throat, Amara yanked the man’s head down and drove her knee into his face viciously. One wet crunch later, she released the collar and drove her foot into the center of the big dog’s solar plexus and kicked him across the pit.</p><p>Paul stumbled, but didn’t fall. Swaying on his feet the larger dog gagged and clutched at his broken nose as blood fountained down over his mouth to drip into the sand. Above them the crowd howled and laughed in satisfaction. In response, Paul bellowed in rage and snarled at her with blood-soaked teeth. Hate fire light in his eyes as she smirked at him again from behind her raised fist. “Bitch!” he screamed, and charged at her again. And with that Amara knew she had him.</p><p>After that it was a game of avoiding the proverbial bull in a china shop, and slowly chipping away at the other fighter blow by blow. Death by a thousand cuts at its finest. More than once the southerner wasn’t fast enough to avoid the brute’s powerful and malicious hits. She’d be feeling that punch to the cheek for a few days and she was sporting an interesting new scratch on her neck from one of the other dog’s nails, but after thirty minutes of dancing Paul was huffing like a hang-dog horse at the end of a quarter-mile.</p><p>He glared at her with eye brimming with malice, and in a last-ditch effort to save his pride he sent a wild haymaker at the left side of her face, the side he’d already partially blinded with his earlier punch. Amara deftly ducked under the blow, but quickly realized her mistake. She’d gotten cocky, left the other fighter with too much time to think and had given that quick mind too much room to work with. It wasn’t a desperate strike, but a calculated grab. He hadn’t been aiming for her eye, but for the back of her shirt.</p><p><strong><em>Stupid.</em></strong> She thought to herself, and braced for the hit she knew was coming.</p><p>Gathering the fabric in his meaty fist, Paul pulled her forward and off-balance. His padded knee met her stomach and Amara felt the air leave her lungs in a whoosh. The fighter then felt her whole body go weightless as the enraged dog threw her across the pit like a rag doll to slam into the plywood wall.</p><p><strong><em>Well, that’s gonna smart in the morning</em></strong>.</p><p>The thought hadn’t even completely left her mind before she was on her feet, battling her still spasming diaphragm to reassert her equilibrium and wrestling her focus back to the fight. Her ears rung, but it was more from the shock of the impact rather than actual pain. A moment of dizziness that was shoved aside with little thought.</p><p>She felt Paul close in on her, and purposefully gave him her seemingly vulnerable back. Large arms wrapped around her stomach, and swung her back out to face the center of the ring. Ever the showoff, Paul was going to try and crush her and he was making sure everyone would be able to see it.</p><p>“What are you gonna do now, bitch!?” he bellowed in her ear, and Amara felt the still wet blood that had soaked the front of his shirt dampen the back of her neck and seep into her hair. The arms around her began to squeeze.</p><p>“This,” she said simply, and slammed the back of her skull into his mouth. Lips mashed and split under her mastoid process, and she felt a tooth dig into her scalp. Another broke off at the root to land on her shoulder like an insect seeking a meal. What mattered though, was that in Paul’s howl of pain, he’d loosened his grip just enough for Amara to drop her full weight forward and reach between her legs. She grabbed the ankle she knew would be there and jerked Paul’s leg up between her own as she shifted her weight back on her hips to help topple the man backward. The dog slammed to the ground in a heap. If it weren’t for the sand cushioning the back of his skull the drop would have knocked him unconscious or killed him. Instead, he’d have an impressive goose egg and his senses would be reeling. For good measure Amara twisted the foot and ankle she still held in opposite directions until she heard the tibia snap.</p><p><strong><em>No way he’s getting now</em></strong>, she thought with a grimace.</p><p>Over Paul’s moans of agony, the mob was howling in approval. Cheers that she’d been deaf to before swirled around her in a breeze and the southerner resisted the urge to flinch at the volume. Stepping back, Amara raised her hands in guard again, but it wasn’t necessary. Paul was done. Blood and drool leaked to the dirt from his ruined mouth and he reached for his broken ankle weakly.</p><p>Carlos, on cue, strode from his refuge in the tunnel and stepped up beside the two fighters quickly. “Do you yield?” he asked the defeated man at his feet and Paul nodded emphatically. He also gave the two-fingered signal for mercy that meant the acquisition was final.</p><p>The padre turned to Amara with a toothy grin, but before he could even open his mouth to speak she interrupted him. “I accept his yield. Get a medic out here.” She said, tone clipped, and with that she dropped her guard and marched from the pit. Sand shifted and crunched under her bare feet and the fighter felt it seep between her toes. Normally dogs stayed to have their hands raised in victory and to hear their bet averages and fighting stats updated, but Amara was anything but normal.</p><p>She still heard the cheering of the crowd from the tunnel as she made her way down to the infirmary. The voices faded as she went and were replaced by muted nods of approval from the doors of the other holding rooms. Dogs didn’t take sides as a rule of thumb, but even the most standoffish of combatants had known Paul was a dick weed. Hopefully this loss would make him less of one. </p><p>She was, atypically, in luck and both Hiram and Clay were still getting stitched up when she rounded the corner of the old Sunday school classroom. She grinned at the pair as she plopped down on a bench and started whipping a wet cloth over her eye. Clay’s arm was in a sling, but there didn’t seem to be any residual animosity left between the two combatants, and they greeted her cheerfully.</p><p>Tracy, Martin’s wife and an RN who had been with the rings since their inception, huffed over Amara’s head as she used a pair of tweezers to retrieve Paul’s incisor from where it had lodged itself at the crown of her head. Clay, who despite his age had the mind of a permanent thirteen-year-old, said she should keep it as a war prize. Hiram, who apparently wasn’t much better, offered to gift wrap it and send it back to Paul personally. Amara laughed, but denied them both when she told Tracy to just chuck the tooth and its twin (which Clay had so helpfully plucked from the tacky fabric of her shirt sleeve) into medical waste. Noble Wigget was a well enough off man. He could afford to tend to Paul’s dental needs.</p><p>The three spent some time in companionable conversation. Mostly just catching up on one another’s lives and how their respective trainings were going. It had been a while since Amara had had the opportunity to just <em>talk</em> with other dogs, and it was refreshing to listen to someone else’s problems for a change.</p><p>Clay, who characteristically launched into the conversation like a FED cruiser, was owned by a Noble named Mistress Amelia. She was a cool woman with a ruthless business streak and, as one of the few female nobles, had a reputation of being a hard ass when she had to be. But despite that she doted on Clay, and regarded the fighter with genuine compassion. The talkative fighter was happier than he’d been in a while, and Amara decided she’d put herself down as a fan of the woman for now. Hiram’s Noble, on the other hand, was more indifferent. Not particularly caring, but far from an asshole. Hiram never wanted for anything though, and he was still allowed to keep in touch with his family, so the dog (and by extension Amara) was content. The southerner found herself sagging in relief to hear how good her two friends were doing, and with every laugh she felt the weight of Paul’s screams ease from her shoulders.</p><p>Tracy had just replaced Amara’s wet cloth with a proper ice pack when they heard a crash come from down the hall. It came from the direction of the pit, and the fighters looked to each other with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Any idea who’s in right now?” Amara asked, rubbing at the forming scab on her neck. Tracy slapped her hand away and started applying antiseptic to the shallow wound all while muttering something unflattering under her breath. It stung, but Amara kept her peace and grinned at the nurse sheepishly. </p><p>“I think it's Juma and Michael.” Clay replied, running a hand through his short black curls. Those curls, and his freckles, made the boy look even younger than he was. He had his Korean mother and Irish father to thank for both, Katuwa rest their souls. After their deaths, Clay had been on his own up until he fell in with the dogs, and Amara still mourned his premature loss of innocence.</p><p>“Can’t be,” Hiram interjected. “Juma’s owner got too nervous after the bust and pulled him. He said he wouldn’t be around for at least a couple of weeks.”</p><p>The man crossed scared and olive-toned arms across his chest and chewed on his lip in trepidation. Hiram was tall and well built. His brown hair was cropped close to his head, and it pushed his prominent cheekbones and sharp jawline into harsh relief. Blue eyes that were surprisingly warm for their icy color drew narrow in concern.</p><p>Amara felt her own brows draw down in confusion. “So who’s fighting Michael?”</p><p>Her question hung in the air as another crash was heard from the pit. This one sounding suspiciously like chain link had been involved and the other fighters winced in sympathy. It wasn’t long after that that they heard a cheer from the crowd. Minutes later a haggard-looking man with intricate and colorful tattoos up both arms stumbled into the infirmary, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. Hiram jumped to help him to the bench, which Amara hastily vacated, and Clay whistled through his teeth. Garret groaned as his back met the padded surface, and rolled on to his side miserably.</p><p>“Holy shit Garret. What did you guys do? Play bumper cars with the side of the pit? What, you like the taste of plywood now?”</p><p>Clay’s deep yet sarcastic voice thrummed with teasing, but he limped over to the sink to wet a rag and handed it to Tracy with his good arm anyway. The nurse immediately began cleaning the incision above the injured dog’s eye and shoed the younger man away to the other side of the room. Amara grabbed a suture kit from under the sink as she got a good enough look at the cut, and placed it at Tracy’s elbow, knowing she’d be needing it.</p><p>“Fuck you Clay.” Was the injured man’s weak reply. His accent was thick. A rough Downtown dock area twang that rang on the end of each syllable. “You and Mikey are both jackasses.”</p><p>The three standing dogs looked at one another flummoxed. Michael was good, but Garret had been a dog for nearly twice as long as he had, and had 20 lbs on him. For the larger man to look this bad something must have been off, and she still hadn’t seen Michael so….</p><p>“How’d it go man?” Amara asked hesitantly.</p><p><em>‘How’d it go?</em>’, as polite of a phrase as it was, was actually code. Translated it stood for ‘Did anyone get killed?’, and they all waited on the tattooed dog's reply with bated breath.</p><p>“Mikey’s fine. For now at least. Little sum bitch needs to check himself. Ain’t no way that scrawny ass mother fucker’s not on <em>somthin’</em>. My ass got real well acquainted with the gate when he tossed me like a bag of chips. I swear to god if—Ow!” he cut off on a wince as Tracy threaded the needle through his brow. “Sit back and stop squirming!” she barked.</p><p>“Wait, wait, wait! Michael’s taking uppers!?” Clay asked dubiously. “I know he’s crazy, but seriously!?”</p><p>“Oh, and that ain’t the end of it.” Garret bit out caustically. “Stupid sum bitch is fighting in the last round. A 'doubleheader', as Carlos put it. He’s up against two dogs out of the Knowles family.”</p><p>Amara felt her heart skip a beat and her blood run cold. That was suicide. Michael was driven and cunning, but arrogant, and the Knowles family didn’t fuck around when it came to training dogs. A stunt like this would get Michael dead before he could even think about the fact that the uppers would wear off well before his second fight even began. <strong><em>Stupid mwanake wa mbwa</em></strong>…<strong><em>what in the hell was he thinking, that</em></strong>…<strong><em>and we were so close to getting through a fight without someone getting killed.</em></strong></p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>…” she hissed and ran a hand through her blood heavy hair. It was all she could do. That and pray that by some miracle Michael made it out of this in one piece. </p><p>Amara never got the chance to find out if he did.</p><p>The fighters were quiet after that. Still talking to keep Garret’s mind off the suturing, but not in the carefree way from before. No matter how many times you got sewed up after a fight, it still stung like a bitch, so they tried their best to keep him occupied. Amara regaled them with the harrowing tale of her flight through the city after the bust, leaving out her trysts into the animal kingdom of course, but the three men still found it amusing.</p><p>It wasn’t long after that, however, that Kane came to retrieve her. They still hadn’t heard anything from the pit that would have indicated the end of a fight, and as Amara stepped into the tunnel she could tell it was still in full swing. Bidding the other dogs and Tracy farewell, she followed the grim assistant up to the balcony where they met Yaruka and his entourage of guards. The noble looked her over appraisingly, and nodded curtly when he was satisfied with his assessment. It was the closest to a ‘well done’ that the man ever got to, and Amara had learned to take what she could get when it came to pleasing the man.</p><p>It wasn’t until they were exiting the church that the fighter heard the tale-tell roar that meant that a dog was dead. Glancing behind at the arched doorway, Amara locked eyes with a carving of St. Francis smiling down at a lamb he held tenderly in his wooden arms. At his side a wolf sat docilely, staring up into the face of his savior.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Nine: The Corpse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Banner stared down upon the corpse dolefully. The kid couldn’t have been more than early twenties. His shockingly blonde hair was matted with blood on one side and one green eye stared up at him unseeing. It was yet to be determined whether it was the caved-in skull or the multiple stab wounds that had killed him, but either way, it wouldn’t have been an easy way to go. His shirt, if he had had one, was nowhere to be found, and the gunmetal grey cargo pants were patched and tattered in places. A silver collar with a blue tribal tattoo pattern rested at the boy’s throat, also stained crimson.</p><p>The body had been found this morning by a father of two who had been out jogging. The man was still a bit shaken up, but was on his way back to his family in lower Uptown curtsey of a couple of patrolmen who had been first on the scene. Forensics was in the thick of processing the evidence. Lab technicians in muted grey jumpsuits and facemasks swarmed around the boy, collecting the smallest bits of stray fibers and hair in the hopes that <em>something</em> would lead them to the young man’s killer. Banner knew it was unlikely that anything would turn up. Every body dump from the rings so far had been completely whipped of evidence. Nothing left to even officially link the victims to the rings other than injury patterns and circumstantial evidence that wouldn’t last a minute in court. Every corpse, that is, except this one. This was the first body to ever be left with its collar on and intact.</p><p>Banner stared down at the innocuous piece of para-cord and metal. In any other city he would have just assumed it was a rogue fashion statement. Just an edgy piece of jewelry meant to draw the attention of the young man’s peers and the eye rolls of his elders. But not in the three towns of Trinity. Not in this city.</p><p>The detective’s fingers itched to remove the collar. Both to free the boy from his enslavement, even if it was far too late, and to inspect the thing himself. Every fighter who had ever been seen alive had one. Why, no one really knew, and Banner was anxious to see what secretes this one would yield. Was it simply a status symbol? If so, then why would the fighters bother to wear them outside of the pit? Why were all of them removed from the bodies if they were just a metaphoric statement, other than to try and pass the body off as a mugging or drug deal go bad?</p><p>O’Neil walked up to his right and squatted beside the body, careful not to disturb any evidence, her sharp eyes scanning for the slightest clue. “You smell that?” she asked, crouching lower over the boy’s chest.</p><p>“Yeah,” he responded. “Bleach. No way in hell any biological evidence survived. His fingertips have been cut off too.”</p><p>His partner twisted her head to the side to take in the bloodless nubs and the end of the boy's fingers. “Well, say what you want about these guys, but they sure as shit are efficient.”</p><p>Banner just nodded in reply. “Coroner said that liver temp puts the time of death between midnight and one a.m. last night. That means they’ve started up again in new locations.”</p><p>O’Neil stood again and eyed him as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Banner, you know this wasn’t your fault. You <em>tried</em> to tell them that bust was fucked from the beginning. You couldn’t have prevented this any more than a man on the moon.”</p><p>He knew deep down she was right, but he couldn’t help thinking that if he had stayed in just a <em>little</em> bit longer he could have shut the rings down for good, and a boy wouldn’t be lying here dead.</p><p>Instead of responding he changed the subject. “You think the collar will give us anything? It’s the first time a body’s been found with one.”</p><p>“I sure as shit hope so. You think that was on purpose?”</p><p>Banner crossed his arms and chewed on his lower lip. “Don’t know. Could be that they’re getting sloppy and forgot….but that doesn’t seem likely. They just had a UC infiltrate and a subsequent bust, so they’re gonna be on high alert for a while.”</p><p>O’Neil nodded her agreement and cast her eye back to the body. “Or…” she began slowly, “it could be that someone’s trying to give us a leg up.”</p><p>Banner felt his eyebrow raise in surprise. “You think so?” he asked skeptically. With as complicated as this case was turning out to be, it was hard for him to believe that anyone involved with the rings could be on their side.</p><p>O’Neil scoffed and eyed him critically. “Come on Banner. Years of meticulous evidence disposal and they forget something like this?”</p><p>Banner sucked on his lip again and nodded. She definitely had a point.</p><p>“Let’s just wait and see what forensics gets us.” He said finally, and turned away from the murdered youth.</p><p>……………………………..</p><p>As it turned out, not very much. After a thorough once over, the lab had discovered that the collar weighed more than it should have. There were no external signs of an inner lining, but the numbers on the scale didn’t lie. However, as soon as the collar had gone into an x ray the thing had burst into flames. An electrical fire so hot, it has melted the machine used to scan it and had caused the entire building to be evacuated. The only thing left of the collar was a charred bit of metal D ring.</p><p>Banner had wanted to scream. O’Neil <em>had</em> screamed, and had then spent two hours at the firing range with her partner working out their collective frustration on the paper cut-outs.</p><p>But thank all the gods for Hal Garza and Betsy Dobbins. The two forensic scientists had, thankfully, had the foresight to catalog everything they’d gotten from the collar before the lab went up in flames. And as Banner was poring over the crime scene and evidence analysis photos he caught the glint of something snagged in the weave of the silver para-cord.</p><p>“O’Neil!” he shouted across the bullpen.</p><p>She’d sprinted over, nearly tripping over a junior patrolman who’d immediately scuttled away in terror. She looked over his shoulder at the computer screen as Banner pointed at it emphatically. “Look at this. Look at this shit right here! That’s a splinter right!?</p><p>Her eyes went wide and she shoved his hand away from the screen to get a clearer look. “Oh fuck yes it is!” she exclaimed.</p><p>The partners had locked eyes for and moment and then they had practically raced over to the new lab where Hal was leaning over a microscope intently. “Garza! Buddy, pal, old friend! How’s it hangin’?”</p><p>Hal Garza, a short and scruffy man with a graying shot of brown hair cast his partner an annoyed look over the rims of his glasses. “Can it O’Neil. I’m busy. What do you and your boy scout want?”</p><p>Banner resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the chemist’s comment. Though he wasn’t innately a bad guy, the scientist had a tendency to rub people the wrong way. He was brutally blunt, and many of the social queues that told a normal person what would offend someone else went right over the bespectacled man’s head. He was smart as a whip, thank god, but meticulously particular about what he would and would not put up with. One of the things in the ‘will not tolerate’ category was O’Neil’s snark and now, apparently, Banner’s perceived brown-nosing.</p><p>“Well, you see there’s just this little thing,” O’Neil said, pulling out her holo and projecting an image of the evidence photo.</p><p>She pushed forward right into the chemist’s personal space and Banner saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. The detective bit the inside of his check to stave off a snigger. “You see this, that thing right there? Now to my unlearned opinion that looks like a splinter. And, knowing how talented our lovely forensic scientists are here at the FED, we figure you could just get a metric fuck ton of information from a piece of organic evidence like that. And we were just wondering if you had, oh I don’t know, managed to save said piece of wood before the collar went up in flames?”</p><p>Garza glanced at the image, and opened his mouth to let loose what Banner could only imagine was a scathing reply. He cut in before the man could say anything that would make his partner deck him.</p><p>“It would have been protected from most of the bleach since it’s on the inner seam of the collar. It’s likely the <em>only</em> piece of organic evidence we have Garza.” </p><p>The chemist eyed him clinically, but then looked back to the image with a more analytical gaze. “You’re right about the bleach, but organic material is Dobbin’s field.” His sharp eyes fell back to the detective. “Don’t look at me, I’m chemical.”</p><p>Banner bit back on a sigh, and said. “Well, you see, she’s not here and we <em>really </em>need to know if—”“It survived the fire? It did.” Betsy Dobbins crisp voice made them all turn to see her whirl into the lab in a flurry of blue and white. The sapphire silk blouse and lab coat she wore billowed behind her as she marched in on thick wooden sandals.</p><p>“Mas spec just came back. It’s pine. An old species that went extinct back in 2025 called loblolly pine.” The woman pulled up a screen that streamed with graphs of molecular percentages and chemical peaks that Banner didn’t have a snow ball’s chance in hell of making heads or tails of.</p><p>“It was mostly grown domestically in Alabama, Georgia, and a few other states that used to make up the south.” She continued, pushing an unruly hair behind her ear. “It was also grown in higher altitudes of Africanized countries. Tanzania, Mozambique, Kenya…” she trailed off as the two detectives abandoned the prickly chemist in favor of the much more hospitable biologist. They swarmed around the screen as the woman pulled up more mundane images of the pine species in question. </p><p>Banner studied the trees, and though they seemed unusually familiar, they weren’t in and of themselves all that extraordinary. “Can you tell where it came from?” he asked.</p><p>Betsy shook her head, making her long, ponytail whisper against the back of her lab coat. “No, sorry. I’m a scientist Banner, not a magician. More than likely it’s from some kind of furniture or the floor of an older building. This species was used as timber and lumber up until the economic crash in 2019. After that, it was mostly left to die out on its own. There was a faint trace of lacquer on the dorsal side of the splinter, which tested as a run of the mill wood polish.”</p><p>O’Neil crossed her arms and hitched a hip on the table they stood around. “So, let’s say for argument's sake that enough of this wood hung around to keep building after they stopped harvesting for what, ten years?” she asked, looking at the screen with her head cocked to the right.</p><p>Betsy thought for a moment, then typed in a few commands and a string of data replaced the images on the screen. She read for a moment then said, “More like five. Pine cures over time and becomes too hard to use if it’s not treated, which no one does if they’re building an internal structure. So, I’d estimate this was used before 2024 or 2025.”</p><p>“So, we’re looking for a building built before ’25 with pine hardwood floors? That doesn’t narrow it down very much, Betsy.”</p><p>The biologist sent him a sympathetic look. “I know, and I’m sorry. I wish I could give you more, but the bleach contaminated most of the sample even though it was concealed in the inner weave of the collar. This was all I could get.”</p><p>Banner nodded in acceptance, and chewed on the inside of his lip, thinking. “There’s got to be some kind of record for buildings that old.” He muttered, almost to himself.</p><p>O’Neil cocked an eyebrow in response, nodded her head in agreement, but Betsy cut in and dashed their fledgling hopes of an easy lead. “You’d think so, but after the war there wasn’t much emphasis on historical preservation. Most everybody wanted to forget everything that happed after the shit show that was 2016. There’s a big hole in most records from then up till the end of the war. Everyone was so convinced the world was going to end they didn’t bother writing anything down.”</p><p>O’Neil sighed and Banner felt his shoulders drop. This was going to take a while.</p><p>A bark of a laugh from the other end of the lab drew all three to their attentions to Garza, who had obviously been listening to their entire conversation. He grinned at the two partners toothily and said, “Well then, I guess you both had better get to reading.”</p><p>……………………………</p><p>It was midnight, and Banner was just dragging himself through the door of his Midtown apartment. His cat, Oscar (who was technically his sister’s cat) leapt from the couch to swish between the detective's legs. His black and white fur gleaming in the dull light.</p><p>He’d hated the cat for years before his sister’s then-boyfriend, now-husband had turned up allergic to the damned thing. She’d dropped him off with the promise of ‘Finding him a new home as soon as possible!’, but that had been over a year and a half ago. After a few months of resentment and cursing after the millionth time the little bastard had tripped him going up the stairs, Banner had to admit he’d become attached to the little furball. </p><p>Oscar meowed in annoyance at being left unattended for so long. The detective chuckled to himself and bent to pick up the little devil. He made his way to the small kitchen with the purring mass in his arms. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and drank it standing at the sink, rubbing Oscar under the chin to console the affronted feline. It had been a long week.</p><p>He’d sent O’Neil home to her family earlier in the evening at seven after their <em>third</em> day of research. She hadn’t been happy about it, but she’d wanted to put her babies to bed more then she’d wanted to argue with her partner, so she’d left with a minimum of grumbling. 4,200 pages of building reports from across the city, and they had to read every single one of them in detail to make sure they didn’t miss anything. By the time he’d finally given up for the night the words had been swimming across the page.</p><p>Banner knew there was something they were missing. Something in all those pages of building inspections that would lead them to where the boy had been the night he died, but whatever it was had successfully eluded them thus far. With a sigh, the exhausted detective finished his beer and chucked it into the recycling bin.</p><p>He wandered back into the living room space and was on his way up the stairs to dive into his bed, when his eye caught on a picture sitting on his bookcase. It was from his academy graduation. He was standing there looking solemn in his dress blues next to his mother and siblings. Lexi was pretty in her pastel sundress and Craig had just been coming out of his awkward high school phase.</p><p>There was a significant age gap between himself and his siblings. He’d been seven when his father had been killed in the war, and his mother hadn’t met his stepfather until a few years after that. Bert wasn’t in the photo, since he’d been the one taking it, but you could still feel his presence in the rounded faces of his siblings that were so unlike his own or his mother’s. They both had the narrow face and hooded eyes of her family, and the contrast was obvious in the photo as they all stood in the sun. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his siblings or Bert, they were all amazing, but it had always somewhat rankled Shaun that he just <em>looked</em> like he didn’t belong.</p><p>His mother had framed the photo next to his Navy Star. The medal hung on a matt of black velvet, its bronze sheen simple for all the achievement it was supposed to represent. Banner had been in the Navy for four years. The last two had been during the thick of the Franklin Uprising, and after helping to squash that rebellion, he’d decided he’d had enough.</p><p>After he’d gotten out he’d spent a year bouncing between jobs, slowly driving himself and his family insane, before finally joining the academy. He’d been the oldest in his year, but years of getting shot at had given him a leg up on the other cadets, and he’d graduated top of his class. His mother had begged him first to find something, <em>anything</em> else to do besides become a cop. Then, when that hadn’t done the trick, she’d pleaded with him to pick a safer city to work in. <strong><em>Anywhere but Trinity</em></strong>, she’d said. <strong><em>That place is another war zone waiting to happen. Haven’t you heard about those rights groups fighting it out with the gangs there?</em></strong></p><p>But it had been just that kind of violence that had drawn Shaun to the city in the first place, despite his mother’s pleading. He couldn’t really blame her though. She’d lost her husband to the War to End All Nations, and then she’d nearly lost her son in the Franklin Uprising. It stood to reason that she’d do anything in her power to try and keep her eldest son from danger, but that just wasn’t in Shaun’s makeup. He craved the rush, the thrill of it all, and nothing in life gave him more fulfillment than the law. Craig had once joked that all he was good at was ducking bullets, and Shaun had had to laugh even over his mother’s sharp worded rebuke.</p><p>Banner still remembered the day he had earned the bronze star. Their mission had been to scout the Noble forces location off the Nolichucky River, and they’d run aground in small tactical watercrafts early before the sun had risen.</p><p>It was wild territory. No one had settled there after the war besides the southern tribes, and they weren’t ones for infrastructure or conspicuousness. It had taken them hours to stow the boats and trek in to the rendezvous point through thick underbrush and brambles. What they hadn’t expected to find three miles out from their drop location, however, was the gutted and burned out remains of a village that had been raided the night before. Cabins and longhouses had been burned to the ground. Pottery and shattered baskets litter the foot trails between the hollowed-out husks and there wasn’t a single person left alive. Men were left to rot where they’d fallen, backs riddled with bullets. Women with bows still clutched in their hands had been mutilated and their bodies left naked. Children were skewered to the ground by their own spears.</p><p>It was while they were all still frozen, horror-struck, that the Noble forces had circled back and ambushed them. In the chaos that had ensued Banner had carried out ten of his injured platoon before calling in an airstrike. As the forest had burned around them, he’d shepherded the remaining survivors and himself down the river to safety. They’d called him a hero. Banner hadn’t felt very much like one.</p><p>Something was nagging at the detective as he stared at the sculpted metal. Something about the color of the bronze in the yellow light of his hall lamp. It was the same color, he realized, as the trees he’d seen burn around him on the river. The same color as the casket he’d lifted a flag off of and folded at his platoon leader’s funeral. And he remembered how bizarrely similar the casket was to the color of the pews in the family’s Old Catholic church. Almost as if they matched. Almost as if…</p><p>It was the same color as the wood found on the dead fighter’s collar.</p><p>“Son of a bitch!” the detective exclaimed, and then he grabbed his keys and screamed out the door back to the station.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Ten: Questions and Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kane looked up from his phone smiling and shaking his head. His running message with Sarah was always interesting. He never knew when something completely out of left field was going come out of that girl’s mouth. The random messages of everything from a photo of her cat, to a picture of her in wonder woman underwear always kept the assistant on his toes. His chuckle was short-lived though, because as soon as his eyes opened they were met with amber flecked orbs of dark brown less than two inches away from his own.</p><p>“Mother fucker Amara!” he shouted, wheeling back and almost toppled over a stool. Demarko and Mathur were on the other side of the room, almost pissing themselves laughing as the assistant tried to right himself.</p><p>“<em>Why</em> are you such a freak?!” he squawked indignantly.</p><p>The fighter just smirked from her perch on the table he’d been sitting at, and flipped her braid over her shoulder. How she’d climbed up there without making a sound Kane would never know.</p><p>“Freaks are the salt of the earth, city boy. You should learn to appreciate us.”</p><p>Kane glared at her in lieu of a response. Meanwhile, Demarko had regained his breath enough to pant out, “You should have seen your face!” in between chuckles. Kane turned his glare on the tall Italian man, who snorted loudly and just started laughing harder.</p><p>“Yeah, laugh it up Demarko. Just wait until she does that to you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mathur began, whipping a tear from the bottom of his eye. “she already has, believe me. At least you didn’t scream like a girl.”</p><p>“I fuckin’ did not!” Demarko shouted indignantly, and Kane heard the fighter snort from the table.</p><p>“Yeah dude, you kind of did.” She said, swinging her legs down to sit on the edge of the table. “But don’t let it threaten that toxic masculinity of yours. One high pitched squeal won’t undo a lifetime of obfuscated gender norms.”</p><p>Demarko looked taken aback (and confused), and crossed his beefy arms across his chest irritatedly. Mathur chuckled and patted the taller man on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to her man, we like you even with your testosterone poisoning.”</p><p>“Obfuscated is a nice and fancy word,” Kane said, turning back to the fighter.  “Do you <em>have</em> to sound like a lexicon when you speak?”</p><p>The fighter swung her legs back and forth and shot the assistant a dirty look, before raising her hand off the table to begin cracking the knuckles one by one.</p><p>“So Kane,” she asked casually, ignoring his question. “was that Sarah?”</p><p>Kane rolled his eyes and straightened his shirt back into its neat lines. “Son of a bitch. Will you mind your own business?” he asked, knowing it was hopeless. </p><p>“Come oooon Kane. I’m bored!” she whined, but Kane wasn’t buying it. He’d seen the fighter entertain herself for hours without making a sound. Meditating, or whatever, without even twitching, so he had little sympathy for her now.</p><p>“And that’s my problem because….?” He trailed off.</p><p>“Because it was your idea to keep the security detail <em>here</em> before the fight. I would have been well on my way to the pit right now, but <em>nooooo</em>.” </p><p>The assistant rolled his eyes again and checked his watch. They only had to stay in the gym for another half hour or so, and Kane was grateful. He was also grateful that it was after business hours, so they were doing their waiting in temperature-controlled and furnished section of the gym, rather than the fighter’s usual sweatbox. And as boring as the facility was he knew better than to house this rowdy bunch at the office just now.</p><p>Yaruka we in a liaison with Madam Akane, as he had been for the past few weeks, who would be joining them at the fight tonight. The meetings was mostly business, but two were definitely sleeping together, and Yaruka would not have taken kindly to interruptions. His wife Hisokaknew about the affairs, as most Noble wives and husbands did, but she chose to turn a blind eye and live out her life in peace upstate from Trinity with their two children. Kane had only ever seen the woman on a few occasions when she’d come to Midtown for appearance's sake, and she had seemed nice enough. Quiet and reserved in a way that made Kane feel at ease in her presence. She was blissfully ignorant of her husband’s under the table deals, and was content to remain so. The children, Jun and Hibiki, he had seen even less. They were well mannered and academically successful, and that was all that Yaruka cared about. So by extension that was all Kane really knew about them.</p><p>“Madam Akane is joining us tonight in the box. Yaruka wanted her to meet you beforehand and I am <em>no</em>t going to suggest to him that he drag a Noblewoman down into whatever rat-hole Carlos is using to hold you guys before the fight.” Kane bit back in retort.</p><p>Amara’s head whipped up at the mention of Akane and Kane saw her shoulders slump and her eyes roll heavenward. “God damn it. Now I’ve got to act impressive. Why didn’t you tell me he was bringing her along? And by the way, Carlos and his boys try pretty hard to make our holding cells better than a ‘rat-hole’, thank you very much.”</p><p>“Yeah Kane. The last place even had <em>chairs</em>!” Demarko piped up in sarcastic agreement. Amara snagged a half-empty water bottle from behind her and flicked it at him. It sailed with uncanny precision to bounce off the large man’s bicep. He flipped her off in retaliation, and Mathur barked out a laugh.</p><p>“I didn’t know she was coming until a few hours ago. That’s why we rushed you over here.” Kane replied, ignoring the childish actions of the others. The fighter nodded in assertion and went back to cracking her knuckles.</p><p>Kane’s eyes fell back to his phone and he sent Sarah a quick message to let her know he’d be out of pocket for the rest of the evening. She was a cool girl, but the last thing he wanted to do was piss her off. Her wrath was quick and brutal, and Kane was actively trying not to fuck this one up. He’d never felt this at ease with a girl before. Their interactions were easy, and he never felt like he was having to translate every message she sent. He never had to guess what she was thinking because she’d <em>tell</em> him, outright and honest. It was refreshing, but also somewhat terrifying. As much as he liked Sarah, he was convinced that she’d burn his stuff in the street if he messed up.</p><p>Kane looked up and Amara eyed him again knowingly. Finally, with the resignation and knowledge that she wouldn’t let it go, he sighed and gave in.</p><p>“Fine! Yes. It was Sarah. Happy now?”</p><p>Surprisingly, instead of mocking him the fighter quirked up the corner of her mouth in a small grin. “I’m proud of you man.” She said, and then ruined it by continuing. “This is, what, only the third girl I’ve seen you date more than once? Looks like you finally decided to stop trolling the one-night stand scene.”</p><p>Demarko barked out a laugh, but Amara’s genuine tone of approval took some of the sting out of it. That was, until Mathur spoke up. “Nah, she’s at least the fourth.”</p><p>Kane’s head whipped around to the man. “Excuse me?” he asked with affront.</p><p>“Well,” he began, and Kane felt irritation welling in his chest. “there was Kelsey, who broke little man over here’s heart. Katya, who was just… a lot. Rochelle, who you saw, what, twice? Three times? Before she split out of nowhere. And now the lovely Sarah.”</p><p>Amara nodded her head in agreement and Kane sputtered in outrage. “Why. The. FUCK do you know so much about my love life?!?”</p><p>Demarko and Mathur snorted and Amara outright laughed. “Because, besides Demarko’s revolving Keisha drama, you’re the most entertaining.” She said.</p><p>Demarko gave a brief “Hey!” of indignation, but the room at large ignored him. “It’s not my fault women are more enigmatic than Chinese algebra.” Kane retorted, his tone justifiably bitter. <strong><em>What is it, shit on the personal assistant day? </em></strong>He thought to himself.</p><p>The fighter eyed him for a moment, then shook her head as if disappointed. “Dude, girls aren’t that hard to understand. They’ll normally tell you what’s bothering them. Just don’t be a dick and show a little compassion and you’re in.”</p><p>Kane for once found himself agreeing with Demarko’s skeptical scoff.</p><p>“I’m not buying it.” He said in retort, and crossed his arms across his chest. </p><p>Amara rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she began. “Take Katya for example. That girl knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to be as superfluous as she wanted to be. She might have been ‘a lot’ for you, but that wasn’t <em>her</em> fault. This society tells women that they complain too much, so they feel like they can’t tell you outright that you’re acting like a total knee scab. Sarah just doesn’t seem to care. That’s what makes her “different”. Most women are stronger than anyone is this ‘civilized’ society gives them credit for. How they put up with y’alls bull shit for so long, I have no idea.”</p><p>Kane was taken aback and felt his jaw drop slightly, god smacked on two fronts. Sure, he was acutely aware that Amara was female, but it always seemed secondary to her nature. It hit him suddenly that, yes, she could and would speak to the troubles and mentality of the female gender. She was a fighter first and foremost, but under that she was innately a girl. The assistant felt chagrined all of a sudden that he had to be reminded of her two X chromosomes. Secondarily to that, he was once again reminded of just how god damned observant the fighter way. Here she was, making bone-deep observations about women she’d never even met, but obviously had taken the time to get to know. In an odd way, it seemed like she actually <em>cared</em> about them passed their association to someone she merely worked with. It was creepy and endearing all at the same time.</p><p>Despite this, Kane realized there was at least some truth in her words sheepishly. He’d seen how a woman’s gender could be used against her while living with his mother, aunt and his sister, who had all faced struggles he couldn’t even fathom. Hell, he’d threatened enough of his sister’s dates with castration enough times (and almost had to come through on that promise) to know that guys could be dicks. It had just never occurred to him that he could be one of them.</p><p>Across the room Mathur nodded in approval while Demarko snorted again. <strong><em>Who’d have fingered Mathur as a feminist? </em></strong>Kane thought, but kept his mouth shut<strong><em>. </em></strong></p><p>Amara rolled her eyes again, but before she could respond to Demarko’s incredulity Hill and Usui entered the room. </p><p>“What are you ladies clucking about in here?” Hill asked good-naturedly in his gruff voice.</p><p>Though it wasn’t distinctively perceivable, all of the younger guards (Kane included) straitened at his entrance. Hill was the oldest and most senior guard in Yaruka’s security unit. He’d protected the man since almost right after the war, and he had had a hand in training every security officer that had come after him. He was a hard man, but not overtly harsh. His salt and peppered hair and corded muscles spoke of experience and hard work. He had a hooked and slightly crooked nose from being broken one too many times, and it gave him the appearance of a wizened bird of prey.</p><p>Conceivably, it could be argued that Hill was the older brother/father many of the guards had never had for one reason or another. Kane himself, who had been raised by a single mother and had been surrounded by women in his youth, had reveled in the man’s presence ever since he had joined the noble’s employ. As tough and amazing as his family was, there was just something about male bonding that had been missing from the assistant’s life up until that point.   </p><p>“Oh nothing,” Amara replied, hopping off the table and turning to face the new entries. “Just the nature of man and his relation to the fairer sex.”</p><p>Hill quirked an eyebrow, and behind him Usui looked utterly perplexed. At their look of combined questioning Kane just rolled his eyes, as if to say ‘<em>don’t ask</em>’. </p><p>“<em>Fairer</em> sex?” Demarko asked, arms crossed and raking his gaze over the fighter, whose scars were atypically on full display in a black tank top due to the late spring heat.</p><p>Amara shot the man a scathing look and raised a middle finger for good measure. “I don’t count Demarko.”</p><p>Kane’s face fell into his hand and the assistant internally bemoaned the necessity of having to associate himself with this kind of primary school level pigtail pulling. Rubbing his fingers across his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and asked, “What’s Yaruka’s ETA?”</p><p>“Ten to fifteen. We came ahead to clear the route. Madam Akane’s detain is sticking with her and Smith is inbound with them.” Hill responded.</p><p>Mathur cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms to lean against an abandoned squat rack. “How many does she have with her?” he asked. “Because if it’s a full squad it’s about to get pretty crowded in here.”</p><p>Kane had to agree. Ever since the bust on the warehouse Hill had doubled the number of guards in Yaruka’s detail for fight nights. Six of the man’s personal men, Kane, Amara, and the Noblewoman was already a stretch to remain inconspicuous while they traveled. Any more and they risked drawing too much attention.</p><p>“Just one.” Hill responded, thankfully. “Big bald son of a bitch that hasn’t spoken a word since they got here.”</p><p>Demarko rolled his eyes and his expression showed his distaste. “Figures.” He growled. </p><p>“What is it Demarko, don’t play well with others?” Amara quipped, moving to the more open side of the room to begin doing her pre-fight stretching.</p><p>It was an intricate process that took nearly twelve minutes and involved some of the weirdest body positions that Kane had ever seen. The room at large fell quiet (besides Demarko’s brief and rumbled out retort) in deference to the fighter’s ritual. As much as the guards liked to verbally spar with Amara, they knew that this procedure was important, and tried consciously not to interrupt. The exercises she was doing now could mean her life in the ring, and the fighter was meticulous about preparing her body for the violence to come.</p><p>It had been over a month since her foray into the headline fights, and since then she’d gone back to her usual place in the first or last bout. She was up first this time, and evidently, she didn’t think she’d have time for this at the ring, which Kane had to concur with. God only knew how long it would take for Yaruka to show her off to the Madam.</p><p>Yaruka hid it well, but Kane knew he was trying to impress the Noblewoman. She held vast swathes of the upstate region, and the sire of Midtown was hoping to form an alliance with her to seize the rest of the areas surrounding Trinity, and strangle the other Nobles out of the city. It was a dicey move that would take years but in the end, if it worked, Yaruka would be one of the most powerful nobles on this continent. Say what you wanted about the man, but as a tactician he was a genius.</p><p>After some time the silence that had fallen over the room was broken, suddenly, by a quiet voice from the corner. </p><p>“Um…Amara, I have a question.” Usui said tentatively.</p><p>Kane eyed the younger man with a brow raised, as did the other guards. <strong><em>Talk about not knowing how to read a room.</em></strong> He thought to himself.</p><p>His eyes fell back to Amara, who was on her back, had an ankle crossed across the opposite knee and was raising her hips to stretch… something. The fighter looked up from the floor, slightly taken aback, but surprisingly, she responded.</p><p>“Shoot, man.”</p><p>Usui glanced around at his superiors nervously, as if wondering when someone would reprimand him for his curiosity. If the fighter hadn’t responded, then Hill might have done just that, but as it stood the man just arched a brow at the kid.</p><p>Despite this, he slowly asked, “So Senor Carlos is the head of the fighting rings, right? But I was just wondering…wasn’t he Padre of Los Mapaches before the…competitions…started?”</p><p>Kane, though repressing a snort at the ‘competitions’ synonym, was impressed with the younger man’s knowledge, and bravery. For a kid born into the Noble class, he was showing an inordinate amount of interest in the history of what many viewed as a low-class hobby. He also had a hell of a lot of balls to ask that of the fighter. Most new guards went with what information they were given, and deemed everything else leading up to the fighter’s presence in Yaruka’s service as inconsequential. Kane didn’t know if that made him like the kid more, or irritated him that he hadn’t thought to ask those questions himself.</p><p>Amara sat up on her elbows and arched a brow at the guard. “Yeah,” she stated bluntly “and?”</p><p>Usui nodded and Kane saw the other guards tune in to the conversation with interest. “So,” he continued, “wouldn’t that mean that he was the head of the gang the original, um…fighters fought against? You know, after the Franklin Uprising? And wouldn’t that mean that you kind of….sold yourself to the enemy?”</p><p>Kane felt the room go cold. If there was ever a time that Amara was going to lose it and attack a guard, now would surely be it. She <em>would not</em> talk about her past, particularly anything that had to do with her southern heritage or the fight's origins, and had told more than one guard to promptly fuck themselves when they started pressing for too much information. And what she really wouldn’t stand for was any perceived insult to the original dogs. That ‘selling yourselves’ comment wouldn’t sit right, and surly this was crossing a line. Hell, even as much as he and Amara squabbled, Kane knew when to keep his curiosity in check. That was part of the reason he’d kept the digging he’d done into her tribe to himself. Kane swallowed on a suddenly dry throat, and in his peripheral he saw Hill tense and focus his attention on the fighter, who had completely frozen on the floor.</p><p>But, to his shock, after an extended pause the fighter simply took a deep breath, seemed to decide something for herself, stretched her legs out in front of her and responded. “Well, yeah.” She stated flatly, though her eyes had fallen to the floor and Kane could read the tension in the set of her shoulders. “Los Mapaches wasn’t the only gang running animal fights in Trinity, but it was definitely the biggest. We traded a lot of blood before we decided to join up.” She paused for a moment, then continued as she looked up to the younger guard with a slight smirk. “How do you think he got that gold tooth? One of the guys in my unit knocked it out for him.”</p><p>Kane felt his jaw drop.</p><p>“You’re shitting me!” Demarko accused, no longer pretending to not be paying attention to the conversation.</p><p>“Hand to god!” the fighter responded, bending forward to touch her toes with a slight quirk of her lips. “David came up behind him and caught him square in the jaw in a scuffle down by the docks.”</p><p>Kane shook his head in disbelief; not only at the idea that Amara was willing sitting here and discussing topics she’d actively avoided up to this point, but also at the notion that her history with the padre went back way further than he’d imagined. He had known that Carlos had been associated with Los Mapaches, but he had always assumed the man had come to power after the fights had started.</p><p>“So wait a second.” Mathur sputtered, raising a hand and shaking his head in disbelief. “You all come to Trinity, duke it out with these gangs for <em>months</em>, then decide to join up? That… that’s insane!”</p><p>“Not really, when you think about it.” The fighter replied, rising up on her hands and feet to arch her back. “The originals…well, we wanted the animal fights to stop. And sometimes you’ve got to make a deal with the devil to save something innocent. Carlos and the other gang leaders would never let go of a business that was bringing in most of their revenue, so what were we supposed to do?”</p><p>She let the question hand in the air for a moment and shifted her pose. She was on her feet now, feet shoulder-width apart and her arms flung wide to either side like a discus thrower. The movement and arch of her neck cast the scars of her upper chest and shoulders into harsh relief.</p><p>“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” she continued. “Something’s got to give, eventually. So we decided we’d give. They wanted the fights, and weren’t too picky about <em>what </em>was doing the fighting. We wanted the animals to get left alone. We were already trained. It made sense.”</p><p>“On what planet does that make sense!?” Mathur squawked, and Amara quirked her lips in a half-smile.</p><p>Kane just shook his head in awe. Knowing this cast the fighters’ relationship with Carlos and his men into an entirely different light. He’d always assumed there was some kind of incentive there. Some exchange of money or goods that put the dogs in debt to rings, and thus in their service. The idea that the originals had just…<em>given</em> themselves to the men they’d been fighting against was just….</p><p>Kane never got to finish his thought, because it was then that Hill’s earpiece buzzed and everyone snapped to attention.</p><p>Amara dropped to the floor to kneel on one knee with her head down. Demarko moved to mirror Mathur on either side of the door, and Kane stepped forward to grasp his hands at the small of his back. Usui shadowed Hill, and everyone’s spine snapped straight as an arrow when Yaruka strode through the door with his usual fanfare of command not five seconds later.</p><p>On the noble’s arm was a striking Asian woman in a skin-tight and deep crimson dress. The fabric flexed across her hips and seemed to slither across her body as she moved. The black and silver dagger pumps she wore clicked as she entered the room, and brought her nearly equal in height to Yaruka. Small and delicate diamonds dripped from a chain about her neck, and as her hand rose to grip Yaruka’s arm, Kane saw ten tiny rubies embedded into the base of each nail. They flashed like talons as she sunk the stiletto tips into the black knit of the sire of Midtown’s suit sleeve.</p><p>As a pair, they matched each other. Both polished, meticulous, beautiful…and lethal. Like two cobras circling round each other, necks flared and fangs sharp. You didn’t know if they were mates, or about the strike the other. It was a potent mix that left an air of tension in the room around them. They were followed by Smith, the last of Yaruka’s detain, and a bald, refrigerator of a man with a heavy brow and downturned eyes who Kane assumed was the Madam’s security. </p><p>“Noble Yaruka, Madam Akane. Welcome.” Kane greeted, bowing his head slightly.</p><p>“Mr. Godsden. Gratitude for your due diligence, as always.” The noble responded with a nod of his own, and Kane felt the familiar thrill of gaining the man’s approval.</p><p>Moving forward, Yaruka wasted no time in guiding the Madam before the kneeling fighter (who hadn’t twitched since the nobles entrance) and gestured with his free hand. “Madam, I would like to introduce you to Amaranda, my dog.”</p><p>Akane release her hold on the Yaruka’s arm and stepped forward to inspect the fighter. “My, my Yaruka sama.” The woman finally spoke, her gaze racking over Amara. “What a specimen. Not the most astatically pleasing, of course, but obviously very well experienced.”</p><p>Though her heritage was similar to that of Yaruka, Akane had obviously been raised on this side of the world. Her English was polished, with little accent to speak of, and her voice seemed to purr on the end of each syllable.</p><p>The Noblewoman went to walk around the fighter, but Yaruka forestalled her with a hand. “Stand girl.” He ordered.  </p><p>Amara rose smoothly to her feet and crossed her arms behind her back in a formal ‘at ease’ stance. She kept her eyes down but her head up as Akane circled her like a shark, the noble woman’s nails trailing over the rise of her shoulders and across her back. Though the fighter showed nothing on her face, Kane felt disconcerted for her, and resisted the urge to squirm in sympathetic discomfort.</p><p>“Yes, very nice.” The Madam purred, and paused when she’d circled back around to the front of the fighter. She ran the tip of a nail slowly over Amara’s cheek, along the path of the scar that ran through her eye.</p><p>“How does she do in comparison with male dogs?” she asked, looking back to the sire of Midtown.</p><p>Yaruka’s chin rose as he grasped his hands behind his back starchily. “As well as she does against females.” He clipped, and Kane felt the noble’s pride respond to Akane’s perceived challenge. “Strength is not the only factor that wins a fight Madam.”</p><p>Akane bowed her head slightly in concession, and her cherry lips curled at the corners. “Why of course Yaruka sama. Though… strength certainly helps.” The rubies flashed again as she squeezed the fighter’s prominent bicep. </p><p>The Noblewoman continued to assess the fighter, Yaruka commanding her to turn, bend and stretch in different ways all the while. Though it wasn’t something he did often, this wasn’t the first time Yaruka had displayed her for another noble, so Amara mutely followed the orders with practiced ease. Akane laughed and clapped her hands together like a school girl when the fighter demonstrated a rapid boxing combination on the heavy bag hung in the corner of the gym. Yes, it looked as if all things were going well…that was until the Madam threw them all for a fucking loop.</p><p>Amara was back in her at-ease position, with the Noblewoman circling once more, when Akane suddenly asked, “Do they breed?”</p><p>Kane felt his stomach drop and the room go stale. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Usui shift his stance uncomfortably, and he resisted the urge to do so himself. Amara’s eyes narrowed and her pupils whipped to the side to stare at the Noblewoman, though she was too far behind the fighter to see it, with an indistinguishable emotion on her face. Yaruka tensed, and Kane thought for a moment that he was going to tell the noble woman off for the absurdity of her question. However, on closer inspection he saw that the man’s irritation was actually pointed toward Amara, who brought her eyes back down when she noticed the noble’s glare.</p><p>“No, they do not.” The man answered shortly, and Akane obviously read his tone and decided not to push.</p><p>“A pity then.” She stated, reaching forward and gripping the fighter’s braid. She rubbed the end between her fingers, as if assessing some sort of fabric. “I’ve been of a mind to get one of my own. We could have made a beautiful match.”</p><p>Kane felt his skin crawl. He knew it wasn’t Madam Akane’s fault that she didn’t know how the fights and dogs worked, but it still made him feel taken aback that she’d even suggest forcing a fighter to have children against their will. He knew it wasn’t even a possibility (it went against the formal agreement between the dogs and their owners) but it still made the assistant want to shiver in disgust.</p><p>The two traded a few more comments before Kane had to interrupt. “Sir, I hate to intrude, but we should be leaving soon if you still wish to arrive at the ring location tonight early.”</p><p>The noble cut his eyes to the assistant, but nodded his understanding. “Please,” he said, turning to face Hill. “Escort Madam Akane to the limousine. I would like to have a moment alone with Amaranda. Mr. Godsden, I would ask that you please remain so that we may discuss my schedule for tomorrow. The Madam and I have come to an agreement.”</p><p>Kane swallowed and nodded curtly. He didn’t know what the fighter had done, but he could tell this little pow-wow was not going to end well for her. She knew it too, and he read the resignation in her deep breath.</p><p>Mathur, Demarko, Smith, and Akane’s guard surrounded the woman as she sashayed from the room. Hill and Usui moved to take their places at either side of the door, and Amara dropped back down to her knee once the entourage was out of sight.</p><p>Without a word, Yaruka crossed the room to a bamboo divider that separated the main gym from the entrance to the spa area. He inspected it for a moment, then held out his hand, palm up. “Your knife Mr. Hill.”</p><p>Hill crossed the room and pulled a silver folding pocket knife from his pants pocket. He opened the blade and placed it gingerly in the nobles waiting hand. Swiftly, and with practiced confidence, the noble cut the thin lashings holding the thin bamboo poles together and broke one free from the display. The switch he now held was almost two feet long and whistled through the air as he tested its swing. The noble returned Hill’s knife, and Kane saw the older guard swallow as he pocketed it once more.</p><p>Amara had not been blind to all this. As the two men made their way back to her, she started rubbing her hands together. She was warming the flesh; increasing the circulation to the palm so the sting of the cane wouldn’t bite as badly.</p><p>Yaruka stood before the fighter and tilted her face up to meet his with the hand not holding the switch. “When a guest is present,” he clipped, tone going hard and biting “you will not disrespect them or me. Understood?”</p><p>Amara nodded curtly, and the noble released her chin and stepped back. Without a word, she held out her hand, palm up, and didn’t even flinch as the switch descended with an audible crack. Red welts rose across the skin of her palm as the process was repeated trice, once on one hand then on the other. Kane had to squeeze his hands into painful fists to keep himself from jumping at every snap of the bamboo meeting tender flesh.</p><p>The splintered end of the switch came down short on the last strike, and the skin burst and bled underneath it. It was only then that a slight twitch flashed across the fighter’s face. Yaruka nodded in approval, dropped the stick at his feet, and then turned on his heels to exit the gym.</p><p>Kane was hot on his heels, as the man was already barking out business jargon in his even clip. He perceived Hill and Usui step up to flank the fighter on each side out of the corner of his eye. They followed behind mutely, but Kane saw Hill snag a sweat towel from a weight rack as they passed it, and hand it to the fighter. She pressed it to her hand and nodded her thanks to the older man. The exchange was normal for the pair, but in contrast Usui looked like he was going to be sick.</p><p>Hill would have to talk about that with the younger man. No matter if he was in the background, he still couldn’t react like that in front of the noble and still maintain his job for long. The five of them piled into the second limousine, and as they pulled away from the curb, Kane looked up from typing in changes to the nobles agenda on his phone to lock eyes with Amara briefly. In those brown pools he saw a darkness that growled back at him, and the assistant lowered his gaze once more.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Eleven: Tales and Stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another long one folks. If you're still with me, odd bless.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fight was being held in an older apartment complex off the docks in lower Midtown just before you crossed into Downtown. Half the building had been condemned, but Carlos had cleverly snuck his operation into the section of the building that was sound, and cleaved off the other to let it rot. With the dilapidation facing the main road, no one would even think about entering the building without knowing where the secure access points were.</p><p>As they approached Yaruka’s nose came up minutely, and his usually grim upper lip drew down even further at the sides. To an outsider, the man wouldn’t have appeared any different from his usual air of commanding displeasure, but Kane had known Yaruka for years. He’d quietly cataloged every facial tick, every minuscule expression that exposed pride, displeasure, or anger and filed them away neatly in his brain. A slight purse of the lips or the tapping of his fingers were, to the assistant, the tremblings on the seismograph before all hell broke loose. And right now, the Nobel was pissed.</p><p>He thought this part of the fights were beneath him. Scuttling between dilapidated buildings amongst the riff-raff of Midtown irritated the Noble, who thought himself above such things. He resented the theatricality of the fights, and if he could have seen the matches without actually being present for them, Kane was sure he never would never attended them in the first place. Decorum, however, and his need to see his investments pay off, brought the Noble back to the rings every week though. At least when it was safe for him to do so.</p><p>That was actually how Kane had gotten his job in the first place. He’d been one of the few guards trusted with Amara’s personal detain, and as such, had escorted her to more than a few fights when the Noble had not been able to attend. His professionalism and affinity for detail in his reports had impressed the Noble, and Kane had found himself elevated from security guard to personal assistant within the span of a year.</p><p>With that title change, a whole world of opportunities had opened up to him. As the person trusted with Yaruka’s most personal information, he was treated with respect and reverence by nearly all of the man’s other employees. He was also paid ridiculously well as an incentive to ensure his loyalty. Kane, as his own man now, no longer had to ride on the coattails of those more successful them himself. He could afford his own clothes, apartment, and car if he had had need for one, and the freedom made him hungry for more.</p><p>This was what he reminded himself of as he follows the two nobles up a rod iron spiral staircase to their designated viewing box. Demarko and Usui had already split of with Amara and one of Carlos’ men to escort her to the holding cells with the other dogs. The other guards followed them until they entered the box, where they then spread out to stand as mute sentinels at the back wall with the other security. </p><p>This location was new to the fight rotation, and was obviously meant to be one that lasted. It was more complete and opulent than the others had been in recent weeks, after the FED bust. Leather armchairs and champagne flutes littered the box, and the windows that looked down into the pit two floors below were made of panels of two-way mirrors, rather than just tented glass.</p><p>A handful of other nobles were already mingling amongst themselves, but they were still some of the first to arrive. Unlike some of the other ring locations, this one didn’t have the room to give each Noble their own box, so it was bound to be an interesting night of showmanship and verbal combat. As Yaruka and Akane joined the flock of twittering aristocrats Kane took in the group.</p><p>Noble Knowles and his wife Madam Knowles were holding court on the far side of the box. They both sparkled in gold and yellow diamonds that draped from elaborated gold rings about their shoulders. To their right was Noble Wigget, whose hands looked like they may begin to sag under the weight of all the rings that decorated his fingers, and who was eyeing Akane with a predator smirk as she and the sire of Midtown approached. Kane had to resist the urge to laugh at the sight. Just thinking about the idea of the man trying anything with the Madam made the assistant want to snort. She’d eat him alive in ten seconds, and that was if he got past Yaruka.</p><p>Noble O’Riley was loudly arguing with Noble Tucker and Madam Culter down by the bar on the opposite end of the box. The three were frequently the most boisterous at any Noble gathering, and Kane knew that most of the other Trinity aristocracy found them irritating. A part of him had to agree. Even the stationary Hill and Mathur, who were usually blank slates when it came to dealing with other Nobles, were casting subtle glances at the trio out of the corner of their eyes as they yelled over one another and spilled champagne over the floor with their animated hand movements.</p><p>Kane made eye contact with Christina, another personal assistant to Noble Thurman (whom Kane had yet to see), and she jerked her head and gave a brief wave in greeting before returning to the phone she’d been violently typing on. There was some kind of drama happening there, and Kane knew that feeling of harried helplessness well, so he resolved to leave the other assistant to it and not bother her by seeking out small talk. Most nobles had assistants, but few of them were involved in the rings as Kane and Christina were. It added a sense of importance to the job, but also brought with it a boatload of stresses that the everyday PA didn’t have to deal with.</p><p>Kane glanced back to the end of the box and, seeing that Yaruka was fully absorbed into a conversation, quietly backed out of the room and into the darkly light hallway. The nobles were happily seated in their box, and Kane was going to take the opportunity to take a short leave of their company.</p><p>With a sigh, Kane leaned back against the wall opposite the box and ran a tired hand through his hair. His foot tapped a disjointed staccato on the warped wooden floor. He thought about headed back outside to get some fresh air, or even ducking his head back into the box to snag a glass of champagne (as much as he hated the stuff it was still alcoholic). But he settled instead for resigning himself to his own restless energy, and letting his legs lead the way on a meandering trek. He had a twitchy and slightly agitated energy inside him that was making the usually unperturbed assistant want to move. To run down the hall and go…somewhere, but what he was drawn to and why his feet all of a sudden wouldn’t stop moving he had no clue.</p><p>Well…that wasn’t necessarily true. If he was being honest with himself the assistant knew what was bugging him, but he had resolved in the limousine to keep Amara’s revelation out of his thoughts for as long as he could. He’d pester her about it at a later; since it now seemed like the fighter was open to questions about previously taboo topics. Well, at least it seemed that way when it was coming from Usui. What it was about the younger man that made the usually tight-lipped southerner a regular chatty Kathy, Kane had no idea. <strong><em>Maybe he could get the kid to ask her for him…</em></strong>But not. He’d think about it later.</p><p>For now he’d just let his mind and body wonder, casually strolling through dilapidated hallways and nodding at Carlos’ men as they passed. It was peaceful, calming. A balming ointment for his disquiet that lowered the assistant’s heart rate and soothed his jangling nerves.</p><p>That was, until his body lead him down the staircase and back to the entry-level. He passed Demarko and Usui, who were headed up from the holding room and, at their acknowledging nodes, knew exactly where he was headed. He thought about turning around, about returning to the box with its bejewels inhabitants deep into the throws of witty repartee and to the job he was supposed to be doing, and dismissed the idea with a sigh. </p><p><strong><em>Well,</em></strong> he thought to himself, shaking his head at his own sick curiosity and inability to compartmentalize. <strong><em>I might as well bite the bullet and give it a shot. If she bites my head off I’ll have my answer then. If I don’t I’m just going to drive myself crazy.</em></strong></p><p>………………………</p><p>Kane knew better than to let the ground level patrons get too good of a look at him. Though he wasn’t greatly in the public eye as Yaruka’s assistant, the connection still could have been made if the wrong person went looking. It would have been disastrous to his job security(and skin) if the assistant were to have been discovered and exposed by some plebian from the fighting pits, so when he reached the outskirts of the ring he kept close to the wall and out of site of the few early birds filing in to their seats. Getting some brief directions from one of Carlos’ men, Kane made his way down yet another rod iron staircase to a room that had obviously at one point been a basement. Now, however, it was a holding room for some of the most violent individuals left on this continent.</p><p>Though he’d never made it a habit of hanging out in the holding rooms with the dogs, he’d made enough drop-offs and pickups to know that vaguely how the drill worked. It still amazed him though, how inventive Carlos’ men could be when it came to constructing the whole thing.</p><p>In the corner, Tracy had set up her usual first aid supplies and padded exam bench under a utilitarian floodlight that cast the area into harsh relief. Buckets of water and crisp bandages lined the wall like soldiers preparing for battle, and Kane didn’t even want to think about how red it would all be by the end of the night. Chain-link fence, a customary material that Kane had begun to subconsciously associate with the fights, had been erected into a row of cages down the middle of the room from an open gate that lead into the pit. There was plywood cutting off the visual between a few, and Kane briefly wondered why before remembering that not all dogs were as ‘mild-mannered’ as Amara. Each cage appeared to have a swinging door, like that of an animal kennel, to allow entry into the cubicle and a wooden stool nested in the corner.</p><p>Amara was in a cell near the end of the row, leaning casually against the fencing, and talking to a fighter two cells over who looked like he had seen better days. The barely healing black eye he was sporting made his tan skin appear slightly green, and when he smiled, Kane saw that his canine had been chipped to give him a snagel-toothed grin. The collar about his neck was worn chestnut hued leather, soft and fraying somewhat at the edges. Wings were carved into the material at the base of his neck, arching forward so that the tips barely touched the weathered buckle.   </p><p>He was tall…taller than Kane, and scarred in a way that spoke of more than a few months in the pit. Nowhere near Amara, of course, but the two of them had a look about them that made Kane realize just how much the fighters resembled one another. Not in genetics, obviously, but in the way they carried themselves, and the unselfconscious way they wore their blemishes. The pair paused their conversation when the cell behind the man (which was boarded up on all sides) vibrated violently, and Amara said something that made the other fighter bark out a laugh.</p><p>“—’s got to get over it at some point Hiram.” Kane caught her saying as he approached. “I mean, it’s not my fault his owner is pissed.”</p><p>The other dog…<strong><em>Hiram</em></strong> Kane corrected himself, opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent when he caught sight of the assistant’s approach. Amara turned at his stare, and raise a brow when she saw who was behind her. “Get bored in the sky club, city boy?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest and arching a brow. “Decided you’d drag yourself down to the rat-hole?”</p><p>Kane rolled his eyes and crossed the line of cages to stand beside Amara’s gate. “Just couldn’t get enough of your sparkling personality.” He replied, making sure sarcasm was dripping from his tone.</p><p>Amara gave her own eye roll and shifted her weight on the fence so she was facing both he and the other fighter. Hiram, Kane noticed, was giving him a weighted and disapproving look.</p><p>“So what’s the story with him?” Kane asked casually, indicating the boarded up cell with a jerk of his thumb and decidedly ignoring the other dog’s glare.</p><p>Amara opened her mouth to reply, but Hiram cut her off. “Just a sore loser.” The man almost bit back in retort, his arms coming up across his chest and his brows drawing close in contempt. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”</p><p>Kane’s brows rose at the fighter’s tone; thrown briefly by the malice in it, and that the guy had the balls to interrupt the southerner like that.</p><p>He was about to ask the fighter just what the fuck his problem was, but was forestalled by one of Carlos’ men approaching the dog’s cage. They spoke quietly for a moment, too low for the assistant to hear, and then the man lead him away to parts unknown. Hiram, Kane noticed, didn’t have a lock on his gate that required a key like most of the other cells. Neither did Amara for that matter. He watched the fighter depart in confusion, and scratched his chin nonplussed. <strong><em>Maybe a personality like a bag of pissed cats is just a dog thing?</em></strong> He thought to himself, but even Amara had never been that overtly hostile is such a short amount of time. Looking back at the southerner, he shot her a questioning look.  </p><p>“Um,” he started, brow arched in query. “did I say something?”</p><p>The fighter was staring after the other dog with an odd look on her face, but turned back to him to bark out a laugh. “Ha! No. Hiram’s just…particular about who he gives his time to. He doesn’t take well to those he thinks are in the nobles’ pockets.”</p><p>Kane’s brows drew down and his chin tilted up in surprise. He didn’t know whether to be offended by that or not. Sure, he was in a noble’s employ, but in his pocket? That seemed a little harsh, even for an assistant. It wasn’t like he was <em>in</em> the noble class for Christ’s sake. He was still just a guy from downtown, wasn’t he? The affront must have shown on his face because Amara shrugged at him as if to say, ‘<em>what can you do</em>?’</p><p>“Honestly man? Dogs in general aren’t the biggest fans of y’all assistants. Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t even come close to telling you.”</p><p>That threw the assistant even more. <strong><em>Why wouldn’t they like us?</em></strong> He thought to himself, reeling back a bit at the notion. <strong><em>That doesn’t make any sense. </em></strong>He looked back to Amara and thought briefly about addressing the perception, despite her statement of ignorance, but decided he’d analyze it later with a shake of his head. Right now he had a more pressing question on his mind, and he couldn’t see a better time than the present to ask it. The two were rarely alone these days and he knew if he didn’t ask her now he’d never get the guts or the time to again.</p><p>“Hey,” he said quietly, stepping forward so she could hear and turning to lean on his shoulder with his full weight on the gate, “can I ask you something?”</p><p>Amara looked at him for a moment, assessing, then shrugged and moved to mirror him on the opposite side of the fence. If they weren’t separated by the chain-link, their shoulders would have almost been touching. “Sure” she replied, leaning her head back and half closing her eyes lazily.</p><p>“Why did you answer Usui’s questions back at the gym?” he asked quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I mean, usually you’re pretty quick to tell the guys to buzz off when they bring up shit like that.”</p><p>“Most of the time they don’t really want to know about what happened.” She answered simply, without opening her eyes or shifting from her relaxed stance. “They just want to fill in the morbid details. Usui…” she started, then paused, her tone becoming more serious. “He just wants to understand. Genuinely. I can see that in him. And what can I say? I’m a sucker for the puppy dog eyes.”</p><p>Kane leaned his own head back against the fence and supposed that he had to agree with that on some level. The kid had an endearing air about him and an innocence that tugged on your heartstrings. He was definitely atypical in that regard.</p><p>“I’ve also just decided that I don’t much care anymore.” She continued, nestling further into the fence. “I’m likely one of the last originals left, so it ain’t like I’m protecting anybody by keeping it hush-hush.”</p><p>Kane arched a brow that she couldn’t see at that, and supposed that it was about time. He pursed his lips to the side and stared up at the Spartan cinderblock walls of the basement. “So that was true then?” he asked. “All the stuff about Carlos and Los Mapaches?”</p><p>“Yeah.” She sighed, scratching at a healing scar on her neck. “I know it seems kind of screwy from the outside, but it worked for us at the time.”</p><p>Kane tilted his head to the side and eyed the fighter critically. “I guess I can see that. I just <em>can’t</em> see how you’d be able to trust Carlos after all that. Hell, <em>I’m</em> having trouble trusting him now, and you guys were the ones who fought on opposite sides for months.”</p><p>Amara finally opened her eyes fully and rolled her head up to take the assistant in.</p><p>“It was hard at first.” She conceded, shaking her head and running a scarred hand over her brow. “We had insurances to make sure they didn’t double-cross us, but we were never really sure.” She paused and glanced down at the white bandage around her hand that Kane hadn’t noticed before. Up close, even under the bandage, the wound looked more severe, and Kane felt a brief flash of worry that it might affect her fight tonight.</p><p>“When you’re in the business of blood you learn who you can and can’t trust pretty quickly.” She continued, closing her hand around the bandage. “After a while, you forget who’s on what side, and just start recognizing the people who’ve got your back. They took care of us, so we kept our word. It was that simple.”</p><p>Kane nodded in acceptance, even if to him it still seemed like the least ‘simple’ thing he could think of. He cast his eyes around at the men leading collared fighters to and from cells and had to admit that it looked like they all got along fairly well. Like there was some kind of understanding between them that went beyond a humble ‘dog and dog walker’ relationship. Kane had to wonder though, how many times Amara had had to be lead around or cared for by someone who had at one point been the one making her bleed. It was a sobering thought, and the assistant repressed a shiver. Glancing back to the fighter, Kane decided that he was already in uncharted territory, and that he might as well throw all his cards on the table.</p><p>“So I did some research…” he started and trailed off.</p><p>The fighter cut her eyes to him and arched a brow. “Oh, this ought to be good.”</p><p>“Shut up smart ass. Anyway, I did some research. You mentioned before that you were part of a clan in a larger tribe. The only record I could find of a tribe that completely disappeared after you were born was the Sambana tribe.”</p><p>The fighter looked at him for a moment, completely silent with an unreadable expression on her face. Then she closed her eyes again, veiling whatever emotion he saw stirring there, and leaned her head back against the fence once more. She sighed a heavy breath through her nose, and her shoulders dropped as she responded. “Congratulations.” she said slowly, her tone casual but her body language anything but. “You’ve figured me out. You’re talking to probably the last living member of the Tli-la-hodi clan of the Wasambana.”</p><p>Kane absorbed that for a moment, and couldn’t even relish the feeling of being right. It was just too damned depressing. The sounds of the rapidly filling seats filtered down the row of cages from the pit and tickled across his ear in a whisper. The activity and anticipation of the fights was swelling around them, but the space between Kane and Amara seemed quiet somehow. As if they existed in their own world where Kane was just a man asking about a friend’s past, and Amara was just a girl telling a sad story to someone who would listen.</p><p>The assistant rolled his head to the side and really took in the fighter. She was tense in a way that belied her casual stance, but not in a way that spoke of discomfort.</p><p>It was a bearing that spoke of readiness. Even as she rested with her head back and vision cut off, Kane could still see the roll of her pupils under her eyelids as she tracked the sounds around her. Her chest rose in even breathes and her fingers drummed absently on her bicep where her arms were crossed. She seemed softer somehow in the distorted and dank light of the basement, but at the same time impossibly hard. More at ease than she’d been all evening since she stepped into the gym, despite the awkwardness of having Kane bring up her tribe. He supposed there was a reason for that. Here, there was no one ogling her like a prized broodmare, only Kane pestering her about people that were already dead. There was no Yaruka waiting with his hard words and a switch, only other dogs and opponents who she knew she could beat.</p><p>This is where she belonged.</p><p>A dog in her cage ready to work.</p><p>Kane took a breath and went to respond, not even knowing himself what he was about to say. Whether it was another question about her people or a comment about how much she looked like she fit here, he would never know, because he was cut off by the return of Hiram and his escort. Another unknown dog was on their heels and Kane felt Amara straighten behind him.</p><p>She was a tall woman. Upwards of 5’ 9” and built like a long-distance runner. Her face was long and her eyes tilted up at the corner, speaking of some kind of Asian heritage. The fighter was placed in a cell between the two, closer to the male dog, and Kane felt a wave of tension pass between Amara and Hiram.</p><p>“Hey Kane…” Amara said slowly, not taking her eyes off the woman who was now pacing the cage beside her. “I hate to tell you how to do your job, but our mighty overlord will probably be missing you soon. And I’ve got a fight to get to.”</p><p>It sounded like a dismissal, and a rude one at that, but Kane could tell there was more lurking beneath the surface of the suggestion. The woman in the cage to his right hadn’t quite glaring at Amara since she’d come into the basement, and the hunger in those green eyes unsettled him. So instead of arguing the point, the assistant stood and exited the holding room without fanfare.</p><p>………………………………</p><p>Kane’s throat tasted sour as the dog drug herself up off the floor of the pit. The axe she was holding wavered in her grip and her shoulders rose and fell violently in great huffs of air. Behind him he heard noble O’Riley cursing up a storm and the Knowles couple laughing at him in spite. O’Riley had put big money on the Whippet, but as it was looking the Wolf was going to take her down in short order. Akane twittered merrily at the outburst and toasted her glass in the air extravagantly.</p><p>Across the room noble Plath was silent. The man had oozed in just before the match had started, and had wasted no time in giving a longwinded and haughty speech about how formidable and swift his new dog was. The tirade had stirred the masses, and the more rancorous nobles were quick to throw money down on the new blood that would “<em>surely take Yaruka’s ferocious mutt down a peg</em>”. But there were no conceited words or verbose speeches now.</p><p>The Whippet was fast, that was for sure. The long limbs and sinewy muscles Kane had seen in the holding room were far from superficial, and they had kept Amara on the ropes for the first few minutes of the fight. As had the metal fireman’s axe the woman held in her quicksilver hands. A brutal downward chop of the thing had nearly caved in Amara’s skull at one point, and only lighting fast reflexes and a complicated looking kick had saved her. The exchange had earned the southerner a cut above her brow that bled freely down the side of her face, half painting it in a crimson mask, and a roar of approval from the crowd.</p><p>The Whippet’s downfall, however, was coming in Carlos’ choice of weapon. The axe was heavy and slow; and for a dog built for fluid footwork and quick jabs of combat the heavy iron tool was an anchor. Amara, on the other hand, had been given a long butcher's knife that she could flip between her hands in the blink of an eye. Her reach was significantly shorter, but her easy mobility and lack of muscle fatigue was growing more apparent by the moment. Hell, Amara hadn’t even used the bladed part of the weapon yet, and she was still besting the other woman, if only barley at the moment. The vicious backhand she’d delivered with the butt of the knife had floored the other fighter and had slip her lip to the teeth. As the women stood there panting she dabbed at it with the back of her hand. The glare she was aiming at Amara was murderous, and Kane had to wonder what had inspired such hate between the two.</p><p>And then, suddenly and with zero visible warning, she charged. With a desperation born of rage, the Whippet hacked at Amara in powerful swipes that missed the southerner by nary an inch. Amara ducked and wove for all she was worth, and came up under the Whippet’s guard to hook the long handle of the axe in her elbow. She spun to try and yank the weapon out of the other dog's grasp and sent a brutal right hook to her face, only to be thwarted by the woman’s tenacious grip and taller stature. The punch went low to the Whippet’s sternum, and the axe was pulled back violently to rack across Amara’s shoulder. More blood bloomed, and Amara kicked the other dog’s knees out from under her to disengage.</p><p>It suddenly dawned on Kane that this fight might be one that wouldn’t end without a fatality. At this point, in a normal fight, someone would usually start giving concessions. The crowd was appeased and there was enough blood on the floor to whet the pallets of even the most sadistic noble, but the Whippet wasn’t stopping. Wasn’t slowing in the aggression of her attacks even the slightest bit. There wasn’t even the hint of a yield there, and the woman was too good for Amara to approach her with anything less than her best…and her best was lethal. </p><p>They traded a few more blows, Amara finally giving in and sinking the blade of the butcher’s knife into the meat of the Whippet’s thigh, but it barely slowed the other fighter down. With every hit, the apprehension was sinking in to Kane that this one was going to end badly.</p><p>The other dog wouldn’t stop, and if Amara wanted to make it out of that ring alive, she was going to have to kill her. Amara herself must have come to that realization long ago. She had been trying everything in her power to stop her crazed opponent without inflicting a fatal blow, but none of it was doing any good.</p><p>Kane saw the moment her decision was made, and felt his stomach drop at the grim line of her mouth half coated in her own blood. Ducking a swing that put the axe within a hair’s breadth of her neck, Amara rose up under the other dog's arm and sunk her knife into the tender flesh under her ribs. The shock on the Whippet’s face was palatable even from two floors up.</p><p>The two were face to face. Close enough to kiss as blood flooded between the woman’s lips and down over her chin. A gurgling bubble that Kane felt more than heard escaped from the whippet’s throat as their eye’s stayed locked. The blow was true though, and within three heartbeats she was dead. Her head flopped forward and her weight sagged into Amara, who caught her with the care of a mother, cradling her head and yanking the axe from her slackened grip. Amara sank to her knees and laid the woman down just as carefully, dropping a palm to rest on her brow. She was facing away from the box, but Kane saw all he needed to in the humble bow of her head.</p><p>Around them the mob howled, and the clamor was echoed in the box. Noble Wigget clapped Plath on the shoulder violently, sloshing his drink over the brim. Beside him Akane was grinning at Yaruka, who had very little expression on his face besides the slightest up quirk of his lips. O’Riley and Culter were cursing again, and Kane looked down at his hands. The knuckles were white and bloodless. Half-moon crescents had been carved into his palms by his nails, and the joints clicked and protested as he slowly uncurled one finger at a time. He shook himself aggressively though, and yanked himself back to the present when Yaruka turned to ask him a question about the logistics of a weekend trip upstate. Apparently he and Akane had some property disputes to discuss and she had graciously invited him to her summer home in Antioch. It was time for the assistant to get back to work. He’d worry about the dog later.  </p><p>…………………………………..</p><p>“So is it Sambana or Wasambana?” he asked when he saw her, as if their conversation from before hadn’t been interrupted. </p><p>Amara looked up from the bench and let the cloth drop from her brow, completely perplexed. The blood had been mostly cleaned from her face, but there was still a wash of pink at her hairline. Kane chose to ignore her confusion (she’d catch on eventually), and the black thing writhing in her eyes, and plowed on unperturbed.</p><p>“Hey, I just want to be respectful.” Kane continued, holding his hands up innocently.</p><p>A small line of blood had begun to work its way down her face from the still weeping wound, and Amara pressing the rag back to her brow. “In my language, the ‘wa-’ prefix means ‘people of’.” She responded slowly, the brow not hidden by the rag arched in query. “The tribe was called Sambana. The people were ‘Wasambana’.”</p><p>Kane nodded sagely in understanding and shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. In the corner a cluster of Carlos’ men were sharing a smoke break and speaking to each other in rapid Spanish. The cloying scent of the smoke tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze. Down the line of cages there were fighters in various stages of readiness. Some were sitting quietly, meditating and centering themselves. Others were stretching or show boxing to warm up before their bout. Hiram was nowhere to be seen. He assumed the man’s absence and the muted thuds coming from the pit meant he was in the ring as they spoke. </p><p>“Awful quiet in here between fights.” He observed, trying to fill the space between them.</p><p>Amara looked wholly unimpressed. “Why are you here Kane?” she asked bluntly, leaning forward slightly and wincing as the move pulled on the fresh stitches in her shoulder.</p><p>“Yaruka wanted to know if you were still mobile.” He lied smoothly. Well, it was only a half-lie. The noble <em>had</em> inquired as to their ability to possibly leave the fight early, but hadn’t implied that it was a necessity. Regardless, Kane had jumped at the chance to get the hell out of the box, and the suffocating feeling it gave him, to check on fighter’s status.</p><p>“He already wants to bail?” she asked, incredulous. Tracy’s fluttering around her back with the antiseptic seeming to emphasize her point.</p><p>“Nah.” He replied, dropping into a folding chair that was set up in the makeshift clinic. Standing above the fighter felt awkward. “I think he was just asking out of habit. He and Akane are in full swing up there. We’ll probably get to hang out until the end tonight.” He paused and then added. “That was a hell of a fight.”</p><p>Amara sighed and shook her head, exasperated. “Why thank you captain obvious, for that beautiful deduction. Can we please cut the bull shit? Since you appear to have entrenched yourself in that chair like a tick, I’m guessing you’re going to take the opportunity of ‘checking on my health’ to keep pestering me about shit you have no right asking about.”</p><p>Kane felt the justice in that blunt stab, but replied, “Got me in one” with a wry smirk. </p><p>“Fine you insipid little ass hat. What do you want to know?”</p><p>“Well if you’re going to have that attitude—”</p><p>Kane was cut off by Amara chucking her bloody rag at his face. He ducked out of the way, nearly falling out of his chair in the process, and sputtered, “What the— Oh my god, that’s disgusting! What the fuck is wrong with you?”</p><p>Amara chuckled and sat forward. Tracy came around her and pressed a fresh gauze pad to her brow with a growl, the fighter’s sheepish shrug doing little to diminish her scowl. She removed the pad quickly, and with her other hand threaded the curved needle through the top of Amara’s brow.</p><p>“Ask your questions city boy, before I die of old age over here.”The southerner continued. Her tone was sarcastic, but her face was a little wane.</p><p>Kane scoffed and leaned back in his chair to cross his arms. “I still don’t get that.” Kane finally said, after a pause. The eye he could see opened and her brow arched warily.</p><p>“Context Kane, I need it. What don’t you get?”</p><p>“Were. You said your people <em>were</em> called Wasambana. I don’t get that. The idea that you’re the <em>only</em> person in your clan left. I mean, how is that even possible? You’re people rose up well after the war, and from what I read you weren’t violent enough for the NA to get involved, so what the hell happened? I did find anything about a battle, or natural disaster. Was it a plague, like that group down in the old Latin settlements?” Kane asked. He was rambling, and he knew it, but it gave Tracy the time she needed to finish suturing the fighter’s face and leave them in relative privacy.</p><p>Amara let out a heavy breath and turned to face the assistant. “I guess you could have called it a plague.” She ran a hand through her hair and pulled the tie from the end of her braid. Dark brown tresses fell around her shoulders, slightly curled and damp with sweat. “But, I’ll leave that kind of flowery bull shit to the nobles. It was a war.”</p><p>Kane’s mouth and brows drew down, skepticism plane on his face. “But I didn’t—”</p><p>“I doubt it showed up in your research,” she continued, rolling over him easily. “But I know you heard about the war. We just weren’t supposed to be part of it. I’m assuming you’ve heard about the Franklin Uprising?”</p><p>Kane rolled his eyes. “Well duh.” He said acerbically. “Sometimes it really surprises me how dumb you think I am.”</p><p>“Ok city boy.” She replied, just as sarcastically. “Well, where did the FU take place?”</p><p>“Mostly in an area called <em>Franklin</em> as I recall.” They were going to have to be careful. This much sass in one conversation surely couldn’t be healthy.</p><p>“And where was Franklin?” she continued, leading like an exasperated school teacher.</p><p>“In the low lying mountains of the…..” Kane trailed off, as the light bulb went off in his head. Comprehension hit him like a train, and his mouth went dry with the understanding. </p><p>“Of the south. Yes.” Amara finished condescendingly, nodding her head as she recognized his epiphany. “Points to the valedictorian. The fighting was happening all around us. We got surrounded and cut off. Not that we would have run anyway. The Franklin territory was our home.”</p><p>Kane just sat there thunderstruck. The Franklin Uprising was one of the bloodiest confrontations in recent history, and the implications of her people being involved in that were…not good to say the least. He coughed to clear his throat and cast his eyes back toward the fighter. “Jesus Christ…So your people, they…did they fight in the FU?” he asked after a pause, stammering and voice cracking on the end. “Or were you all just…run over? Holy hell that’s fucked up.”</p><p>The right corner of the fighter’s lips lifted at that, by she didn’t respond right away. She was quiet for a moment, staring down at her hands as if she could find the answer in the lines of her fingers or the frayed bandage around her palm. “We didn’t pick a side,” she said, finally. “but we defended ourselves from the noble forces when they came. Which to them was just as bad allying with the NA.”</p><p>Kane leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “So, that’s what happened to your clan?”</p><p>Amara shook her head and turned her eyes to stare down the row of cages to the pit. “No…Yes… Kinda…They-,” she began slowly, fumbling atypically with her words. “They hit the village in the middle of the night. Killed the dogs with silencers so we had no warning. I was on my way back from a message errand, so I didn’t get there until the killing was almost done.” She didn’t look up from the pit, almost seeming to tell the story to the ring itself. “I heard it from about half a mile out, but by the time I ran out of the woods most of us were already down. We tried to fight. God help us, but we tried.”</p><p>She finally turned her head back to him, and Kane felt a lump well in his throat. Her eyes were haunted in a way that they hadn’t been when he walked into the basement, with a deeper kind of sadness to them that the assistant found hard to look at. He stayed quiet, knowing there was nothing he could say and that platitudes would only piss her off. He thought maybe she would leave it there, but the fighter surprised him by continuing.</p><p>“I would have died right along with them if it weren’t for my mother.”</p><p>She, at last, looked up at the assistant, and Kane caught a quiet smile. “She grabbed me by the arm. Told me to run. To take the ones I could and get the hell out of there.”</p><p>“She sounds like a smart woman.”</p><p>The fighter snorted a brief laugh, then turned back to the pit. The glow from the clinic floodlight cast her face into darkness and the scars on the top of her back into harsh relief. The shadows tattooed the contours of her cheeks and brow in striking (if macabre) patterns, and the scroll on her back almost looked like artwork.</p><p>“She was.” She replied, fondness in her tone.“A pragmatist to the end. When I went to tell her ‘no’ she grabbed the bow out of my hands and told me to get my head out of my ass. She was right, of course, but it didn’t wind up mattering much.” The fighter looked back to the assistant with a dry and humorless quirk to her lips.  </p><p>At Kane’s questioning look she continued, “A few of us made it out, about twenty in total, limping along through the woods. I thought maybe we were in the clear, until we heard fighting start back up from our village. The NA had sent in a scouting mission, and they got ambushed by the noble forces that were hunting us. I guess the NA must have made it out, because the next thing we know there are alliance cruisers flying overhead and raining fire down right on top of our god damned heads.”</p><p>Kane’s blood ran cold and he gapped at the fighter in stunned silence. “Wait, so the NA just carpet-bombed the whole area? That’s….”he trailed off. The complete horror of the whole situation was starting to sink in for the assistant. She’d stated it all so matter of factly, but to have your whole family, your whole way of life ripped away from you like that? And then to have your last dredges of hope blown to shit? <strong><em>God, how is she even still sane?</em></strong></p><p>“It was war Kane.” She said simply, shoulders rising in a mild shrug. “They wanted to root out the noble resistance, stem, stalk and seed until there was nothing left. Until there was no hope for any Noble rebellion in the future to ever succeed. They wanted to salt the earth of such notions in the aristocracy. It didn’t really matter who got caught in the middle. ‘Good of the many’, and all that jazz.”</p><p>The fighter shook her head, and rolled her neck to the side to crack it. “Hell, they probably didn’t even know we were living there. We kept mostly to ourselves.”</p><p>The pair were quiet for a while, Kane silently absorbing the information and Amara watching him silently. The assistant had to shake his head and stare over at the southerner in awe.</p><p>“How in the hell did you make it out of that?” he all but whispered, because he just couldn’t see how it was possible. How one person could have seen all that and still be as strong as she was today. How a kid, probably no older than a teenager, could have made it through that and then, just to put the cherry on top, decided that fighting in the pits was what she was going to do with her life.</p><p>Amara shrugged and held her hands up in concession. “No idea really.” She said “I survived, somehow. Woke up in a hut somewhere south of the river with a family of Wabena. I’m assuming they found me in the ashes.”</p><p>Kane shook his head slowly again in wonder. Mostly at how casually this was all coming out of her mouth. “So you were the only one? The only one who made it?”</p><p>“Yeah” she said softly, gathering her hair and pushing it to one side. “As far as I know anyway. I spent some time trying to find survivors, but nothing ever turned up. A lot of the tribe was still fighting in the far north of our territory, but in the end they all disappeared as well.”</p><p>“And nobody ever…” Kane paused, trying to articulate. “I don’t know, <em>talked</em> about what happened to your people? Nobody ever brought it up in the news? Or called the NA on it?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>Kane felt his brow draw in and his jaw drop a little in shock at her simple reply. “Doesn’t that piss you off?” he asked, incredulous.</p><p>“Kinda?” she replied with a half shrug. “I don’t know Kane, it happened a long time ago. My tribe wasn’t much one to hang on to grudges anyway.”</p><p>The assistant huffed out a short laugh in amazement. Only Amara could say something like that and it not sound like the most insane thing on the planet. Only she could be so flip about the destruction of her entire world and sound completely unaffected. Her ability to take on hardship, to grunt through pain and suffering, and just…<em>move on</em> was astounding to behold. Herculean when he looked at it in context.</p><p>“So, how did you wind up in Midtown?” he asked, finally, trying to at least get the rest of the story before she decided to clam up on him. She had said that she no longer cared about it earlier, but Kane could tell the questions were starting to wear on her. Years of repression and reluctance to share would not be undone in a single conversation. Amara huffed out a laugh and looked up into the middle distance, her thoughts obviously far away.</p><p>“David and his marry band of misfits came up out of the Waheyhey territory a few years after the FU.” She said, a small half smile on her face. “I was half-assing my way through secondary school, trying to make ends meet. He found me at a boxing club where he was trying to recruit people to go north and fight for animal rights in Trinity. My people… we’ve always held animal life to be precious. Just as important as a human life, if not more so.”</p><p><strong><em>Curiouser and curiouser.</em></strong> Kane thought, rubbing his chin and leaning back in his chair. “How do you figure that?” he asked.</p><p>Amara paused for a second, seeming to compose her words. “Animals are like children.” She started slowly and carefully. “There’s no artifice to them. In a sense, they’re more pure than we are, more connected to the core of things, to….shit…there’s not an English word for it…To <em>Katuwa</em>.”</p><p>“Okay.” Kane said slowly, trying to understand. He could see that she was slightly flustered, which was unusual in and of itself. Her usual flip attitude had been replaced with something more genuine, and it was both confusing and intriguing to the assistant. That word though, <em>Katuwa</em>, he had heard her say before. He’d always assumed it was a curse word, since she usually only spoke it in muttered phrases under her breath. But now he was thinking it was more like a blasphemy, or a prayer. </p><p>“Ok, yeah. So, the idea that people were using their death’s as entertainment? That…would have been obscene to us.” She continued. Her eyes were more intent on Kane now, and she had turned in her seat to lean toward him. Her hands came up in short movements to emphasize her point. </p><p>“Hell, we fought tooth and nail amongst each other all the time. Play fighting and wrestling were some of our favorite past times, but when you stepped into the ring it was your <em>choice</em>. Not something somebody more powerful than you made you do.” She stated keenly, a small spark coming back into her eyes. “So I figured, what the hell? Why not go up north and try to save a least some innocent lives before we all gave up to the grave.”</p><p>Kane didn’t exactly understand why she was so intent all of a sudden. It was like she was asking him with her eyes to understand this one specific point. Like the notion of her trusting a man that had tried to kill her and her friends before was just a fact of life and Kane could take it or leave it. Or that she was the last surviving member of a whole culture of people was just a fun fact that could be thrown around at parties. But for some reason <em>this</em>, the linchpin reason she had given herself to the life, was actually important. Something that she needed him to comprehend. And he was trying to...Lord was he trying to. But it was hard. Things just weren’t adding up in his mind and the prospect of what she was saying was foreign to him.</p><p>“But <em>why</em> would you leave?” he asked, confusion plain in his tone. “Why would you join a radical group like that? Couldn’t you have done…I don’t know…some kind of political lobbying or…fundraising from the south?”</p><p>Amara shrugged a shoulder. “Probably? But I didn’t have any interest in staying there.”</p><p>“But it was your home.” Kane insisted.</p><p>The fighter looked at him, and Kane had the distinct notion that there was a pivotal part of this story that he just wasn’t getting. Something that he would never truly understand. </p><p>“I had nothing. No one and nothing to keep me in the south.” She started slowly. “They were all dead, and me staying there to grieve over their corpses wasn’t going to do them any good. So, why <em>wouldn’t</em> I go and do something where I <em>could</em> do some good? Why wouldn’t I help out some people that still needed me? Why <em>wouldn’t </em>I help protect those who could not protect themselves? Why <em>wouldn’t</em> I do that?”</p><p>And he had no answer for that. Because who the hell thought that way? Why <em>wouldn’t</em> she do something like that? Hell, there was a list of reasons as long as his leg. Anyone else would have asked themselves the exact opposite question.  ‘Why <em>would </em>they sign up to fight gangsters in a bloody street war, at great personal risk to themselves, with little to no gain other than saving some animals and possibly preventing the inevitable escalation of rudimentary violence that arose from the chanting savagery of a bloodthirsty mob by selling yourself into indentured slavery?’ Yeah, why the fuck <em>wouldn’t</em> somebody do that?</p><p>Jesus Christ, she was just so….. </p><p>“Backwards…” he all but breathed.</p><p>“What?” she asked, head reeling back the slightest bit.</p><p>“You’re all backwards Amara.” He said, shaking his head slightly in awe. “You think about everything else before you think about yourself. You see a person’s whole life story before you even think to ask for their name,” <strong><em>I just saw you kill a woman who chose to step into that ring, but the idea of hurting an animal disgusts you.</em></strong> “You’re backwards.”</p><p>Kane had the distinct pleasure of watching the fighter gape at him in surprise. It wasn’t often she was rendered speechless, and Kane had never been the cause before.</p><p>She shook herself, then barked out a laugh that echoed in the large space of the basement. “Hah! Huh… I guess you’re right. Backward…well, don’t that just sum it up? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”</p><p>Kane lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, and the southerner chuckled anew.</p><p>“That’s what they used to call us, you know? Backward, illiterate savages. Rednecks and ruffians. The backwater hill tribes of the south.”</p><p>Kane gave his own snort at that and rubbed a hand across his brow. “Well, you are a bit lacking in the manners area.” He said, giving her a knowing look and indicating the soiled rag she’d thrown at him with the tip of his shoe. Amara rolled her eyes and flipped him off.</p><p> “Man, if only you knew.” She paused for a moment, lacing her fingers together and leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees. Her eyes fell to a middles distance; nostalgia and wistfulness swimming in them. “You know, my grandfather had this quote he always used to say when the townsfolk would give us dirty looks at the market. ‘Civilized men are more discourteous than savages.’ He’d say. You know why?”</p><p>She waited and the assistant shook his head. “‘Because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split.’”</p><p>The fighter gave him a toothy grin, and Kane had to fight the urge to shiver. He let out a nervous laugh instead and rubbed a hand over the back of his head.</p><p>He knew she was just doing it to screw with him. Maybe to get back at him for prying so ardently into her personal life, or to make sure Kane remembered that she was still tough despite the vulnerability she’d just shown, but the instinctual tensing of his shoulders and the rise of the hair on the back of his neck was not something he could prevent. It was the quintessential response of all mammals when a predator was near, and Kane felt his heart rate pick up in response. Amara could be damned scary when she wanted to be, and at times like this he was reminded of just how dangerous she was. Maybe even more so now, because he knew that she’d been born into it.</p><p>He shook himself slightly to regain some of his cool and quirked up a lip in a smirk. Her eyes narrowed perceptively, noting the challenge, but her grin melted into something softer before her eye fell back to her hands. </p><p>The pair fell quiet after that; comfortable for once in each other’s presence. A new understanding seemed to have passed between them that left the air between them more open; more honest. Kane was happy with the way it had turned out, despite the awkwardness it took to get there (and Amara’s little threat there at the end), and resolved to try and keep it this way.</p><p>A great cheer came from the pit not long after, and in short order, Hiram limped his way heavily over to the clinic. The man looked a little worse for the ware, but then again he hadn’t looked too good going into the fight.</p><p>Amara hauled herself from the bench and helped steer the other dog into her vacated seat. “I take it Juma gave you a run for your money?” she asked, swinging the man’s leg up on to the bench, where Kane could see the ankle already starting to swell.</p><p>“Dude has more biceps than sense, but yeah.” The fighter replied, wincing as he unlaced his shoe and pulled it off. “Would have had him if you hadn’t taught him that guillotine counter.” He continued, shooting the southerner a dirty look.</p><p>“Hey,” Amara said defensively, “it’s not my fault you got complacent in your chokeholds”</p><p>Hiram snorted and then winced when Tracy pressed a bag of frozen cauliflower to his ankle. “Does Juma have any damage?” the nurse asked, turning back to her kit and pulling out an ace bandage.</p><p>“Nothing too serious.” The fighter replied, “Abrasion on his cheekbone. His own fool fault for kissing the floor face first. Might have a split knuckle. I know this ain’t mine.” He said, indicating dots of blood that were spattered along the side of his arm. </p><p>Tracy nodded absently and fished further in the kit to retrieve a tube of ointment and a pack of bandages. “Amara, would you mind—?” she asked, offering up the supplies. The southerner shook her head and took them unerringly, like it was a usual request. “He’s down at the front.” Hiram added as the other dog turned to leave the medical station.</p><p>Kane, who had been happy to be ignored up to this point decided to tease a little bit. “You going to go all medicine man on him Amara?” he asked.</p><p>The fighter paused and Kane felt like he might have crossed a line. He cringed internally at the blithe comment, suspecting that maybe he had misread the level of comfort they had reached at the end of their conversation, and prepared himself for cuss out. But she was smirking when she threw a look over her shoulder, and the assistant knew he hadn’t been taken too seriously. A faint, “Fuck you Kane.” Could be heard from her retreating back as she disappeared down the line of cages.</p><p>The assistant smiled to himself for a moment, and let his gaze fall back to the injured fighter who was glaring at him caustically from the bench. “You know,” the dog bit, leaning back on his elbows “you really shouldn’t be joking about shit like that. Or asking her about it.”</p><p>Kane arched a brow and crossed his own arms across his chest, slouching further into his seat. “What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence.</p><p>Hiram’s eyes narrowed further. “About her family douche bag! She’s been through enough don’t you think? Least of which at the hands of your boss.”</p><p>There was so much venom in the comment Kane was surprised the fighter's mouth didn’t cave in on itself. The malice so bitter Kane could taste it across the space between them. His head reeled back just the slightest bit from it.</p><p>“She said she doesn’t care.” The assistant responded coldly, his mouth turning down at the corners and choosing to ignore the comment about Yaruka. “And I’d say it’s her business what she tells me.”</p><p>The muscle above Hiram’s eyebrow twitched and Kane was fairly certain that the only thing keeping him on the table was the fact that he couldn’t hold weight on his ankle long enough to launch himself at the assistant.</p><p>“You really think so don’t you?” he bit back in reply instead. “Listen hot rod, I’ve known her for a while and I know that look in her eye. She acts like she doesn’t care, like what happened to her doesn’t matter, but it does. And if you hadn’t noticed it’s been a long enough night without you shoving your nose where it doesn’t belong.” </p><p>To emphasize his point the fight jerked his chin to the far corner of the basement that was the most shrouded in shadow. Beneath a white sheet the body of the Whippet lay cooling on the concrete. You could barely see it from where they sat, but the assistant could discern where tacky blood had darkened the fabric.</p><p>Kane’s frown intensifies and he sent his own glare back at the dog. “Didn’t look like there was any love lost there.” He said and Hiram’s mouth drew up like he was sucking on a lemon.</p><p>“You don’t know shit, asshole. Noble Plath’s dogs? They’re trained to hate her. He takes personnel offense that he’s never had one beat Amara. That he’s never beat your boss. So he pays an arm and a leg to make sure they’re taught that she’s a monster who’s better off dead, and if they can kill her he’ll make them so rich their molars will start turning gold.”</p><p>Kane doesn’t respond, but he feels his shoulders tense up at that little piece of information. He’d known the men were rivals, but to take it to that extent? Yaruka would not be pleased. But then again, maybe he would be. That kind of targeted jealousy was just what the noble loved to inspire in others and to know that he’d gotten under the other Noble’s skin that much…. It might even make the noble’s night. Kane tucked the information away for later, and based on the fighter’s expression, he was almost sure he knew what he was doing.</p><p>“You don’t like me very much. Do you?” Kane asked, changing the topic and attempting to take control of the dialog. Hiram was proving to be a wellspring of information that the assistant had never even thought about. The dog obviously wasn’t stupid, but he could tell the man had a hotter head than was strictly good for him. If he could manage it he might get more out of the dog than he ever could out of Amara, who Kane was realizing was way more tight-lipped about the culture of the fighters than he’d thought. She’d never even mentioned this shit with Plath’s dogs, and anything else that she might have neglected to reveal might prove very interesting.</p><p>“No, I fucking don’t like you. You brown-nosing, shit for brains assistants who think your some kind of saviors when you’re just as bad as your bosses!”</p><p>The dog’s voice was raising and Kane thought about telling him to lower it despite the black eye it might earn him. The last thing he needed was Amara coming back to cut the conversation off. He seemed to catch himself though when another fighter looked over at them in surprise from the closest cage to them. Though there was no less malice in his tirade, the fight lowered his voice and leaned forward. “This isn’t your place.” He hissed. “You don’t belong down here. You can’t just pop in and shoot the shit with us just because you’re bored of playing baby sitter. You will never understand us. Never know what it’s like to step into that ring, so stop pretending like you’re her friend. She’s lost enough of those.”</p><p>Kane didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t sure if he and Amara constituted friends, but he’d never considered that she might actively dislike him as it was apparent that Hiram did. The thought was unsettling for some reason, and Kane pushed it to the back of his mind.</p><p>He’d also never considered how much the dogs talked to one another. Hiram obviously knew more about Kane than Kane did about Hiram, or any other fighter for that matter, and it was annoying to the assistant who usually prided himself on his knowledge. The dogs, or at least Hiram and Amara, were far closer than Kane had ever figured, and if the trend held then it was likely that every fighter knew more than they let on. Simple things that were so easily shared between friends like each other’s names, homes….owners and their habits. Shit that should have been innocuous, but in the world of the nobility could be powerful weapons to hold. The insight the dogs probably had on the aristocracy would be completely unique and unrivaled.</p><p>It was an intriguing avenue of inquiry to contemplate, and Kane would have to evaluate what to do about it later. Whether to tell Yaruka about his little discovery or not would way heavy on his thoughts later, but as for right now, he decided to keep digging and see where the conversation lead him.</p><p>“Well, since she’d lost so many don’t you think she could use all the new ones she can get? Or are the originals too good for that kind of thing?” he asked, hoping to bait the other man, but Hiram surprised him by responding with something other than malice.</p><p>He seemed to deflate a little at the question, and shook his head in disappointment. “That just tells me how much you don’t know about her, pretty boy. She’s more friend to the dogs down here than anyone else is. Hell, she’s probably the reason half of us are still alive.” Blue eye bore into Kane and he shifted awkwardly under the gaze, feeling suddenly chagrined. Hiram narrowed his eyes at him, and continued. “And yeah, she says she’s one of the last originals left, and you probably believed her. But that’s bull shit. She’s <em>the</em> last original left. The only one left...<em>again</em>.”</p><p>………………………………</p><p>Kane was getting too nosey for his own good. That was Amara’s only thought as she made her way back down the row of cages toward the medical unit. She had to be careful. Yes, very careful indeed with what she told him from here on out if she wanted to keep the inquisitive man’s nose out of where it didn’t belong. At times she forgot how observant and calculating the man could be, and today had been a keen reminder. As much as it had stung to dig into the old wounds of her past, as much as it carved at her from the inside out, it had been far preferable to him getting a whiff of the other dogs.</p><p>When the assistant had made his way down to the pit and stopped for a chat Amara had thought her head was going to explode. The world below the surface of the rings was sacred to the fighters; the one place they could speak openly to one another of their troubles, and here was this little shit for brains assistant pissing all over their breakfast cereal. She’d have to apologize to Hiram later about letting his name slip, but she never in a million years would have thought that Kane would have gotten close enough to the cages to overhear them. Her only comfort was that Hiram wasn’t one to be too protective of his identity, and wouldn’t be too upset about it.</p><p>She’d thrown him a bone almost immediately when he’d started asking questions (when she otherwise would have told him to shove off) in the hopes that his presence wouldn’t set off a bugle alarm amongst the other fighters that the Nobles were going snooping. She’d heard the other conversations swirling around her as they’d talked, both before and after the fight, and had gutted herself to keep the keen assistant from absorbing too much.</p><p>Whispered diatribes on the latest dealings of their owners and rumors of which aristocrat was banging an illegal prostitute (or which ones were banging each other) floated freely between the cages. Corporate espionage and backhanded transactions that the dogs didn’t really <em>care</em> about, but had to deal with on a daily basis slithered in between the chain-link like confessions. During their daily lives there was no one to talk to about these little things, so when they could they bitched to one another. Purged themselves of all the bitterness and frustration they built up over the week and found solace in each other’s sympathy. It would have been any Noble’s wet dream to be a fly on the wall in the holding cells, and Amara did not want Kane getting any ideas.</p><p>And as she thought about it, she realized that it hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d imagined it.</p><p>She tried to throw him down a rabbit hole at first with that assistant comment. It wasn’t completely accurate that <em>most</em> of the dogs didn’t like the assistants, but there were a select few that really detested them, Hiram included. They thought them some kind of civilian form of Benedict Arnold for working for people that thought themselves so above everyone else. Amara thought that a bit hypocritical but hey, who was she to judge? Just, you know, the freaking <em>property </em>of a noble.</p><p>Surprisingly though, the assistant hadn’t taken the bait. An insult against his pride and ambition would have normally sent the assistant into a tirade that would have lasted until he eventually stormed out of the basement in a huff. But not this time.</p><p>She supposed it was her own fault for whetting the man’s pallet at the gym. When Usui had broken through her concentration during her warm-up, her first response had been annoyance. Her normally peaceful time to just <em>connect</em> for a damn minute had been shattered with his second question and she’d been a hair’s breadth away from teaching the pup a hard lesson with the back of her hand. But then she’d gotten a ping in her subconscious; a little whisper across her ear that told her to have patience and compassion. It wasn’t often that she encountered someone that the elements actually <em>liked</em>. Generally they tolerated most people and were indifferent to these northerners who didn’t even know of their existence. But not the green bodyguard for some reason. Maybe it was his genuine interest, or maybe it was the innocent way he looked at life, but whatever it was the soft request for calm had cooled her knee-jerk temper and had allowed her to open up just the slightest bit. She supposed it couldn’t have done any harm. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Carlos and Los Mapaches were their main combatants during the street wars, and anyone who had done a little digging could have found out the same thing. Watching the shock cross the other men’s faces had in some way made it worth it.   </p><p>But that small taste of ancient history had apparently just been blood in the water for Kane, and he’d jumped at the chance to taste more. So there she was, stuck in a cage and semi-forced to bare her depressing ass back story to the assistant so he wouldn’t get wind of what was cycling around him.</p><p>It had been awkward and stupid. Stilted on her part and frustrating in the extreme. Why it was still so hard for her to talk about people long dead, she didn’t know, but it had still put a rusted nail in her throat to talk about her mother. After a point though, surprisingly, it had somehow become cathartic. After the fight….</p><p>Fucking hell, why was Noble Plath such a floundering cock knob? You’d think after years of competition the man would learn that no matter how many times he tried to brainwash bigotry into a fighter, pure rage and hatred wouldn’t kill her. Lydia had been a decent woman before tonight. Not overtly friendly, but not the spite filled maniac that had come after her with an axe in the pit. When she’d dragged the knife out of her chest the Whippet had almost looked sorry, and it had made the animal inside Amara’s chest howl in grief and snarl for revenge. Talking to Kane afterward had felt like a different kind of pain. Like poking at a bruise when you’ve already got a cut, and she’d almost been grateful for the distraction.</p><p>What was still perplexing her, however, was <em>why</em> in the hell anyone (Usui, Kane, or the fucking tooth fairy for that matter) would want to know so much about her past. Her reluctance to share, though primarily started out of the need to protect the anonymity of the original dogs, had stayed a core part of her personality up until this point because…well shit, it was <em>her</em> fucking life. It wasn’t some kind of whored out two-bit drama that people could get their rocks off listening to. And at this point it didn’t even matter! Realistically, she felt like it was nobody’s damn business what she’d been doing before she became a dog, because her <em>being</em> a dog was the only thing that mattered.</p><p>That had been the one thing she’d actually wanted Kane to understand by the end of their little therapy session; why she’d signed up. Everything else was just the prequel you could skip before you got to the main plot, but she’d actually tried to get him to understand that part. She’d did know if she’d succeeded, but it at least it seemed like maybe things had settled between them; that the assistant’s curiosity had been satisfied and that he wouldn’t feel the need from here on out to start trolling the holding rooms and sticking his snout where it didn’t belong. She had to admit though, the conversation had given her a sense of renewed resolution that she hadn’t realized that she’d needed.</p><p>This was who she was now, and it didn’t matter a flying flip who she was before. The collar was her present and her future. The only thing that mattered from her past was her decision to put it on.</p><p>With renewed steal in her spine, Amara rounded the last cage and instantly knew she’d fucked up by leaving the two man-children otherwise known as Kane and Hiram alone together. While Hiram looked like he was two seconds away from bludgeoning the assistant to death with his frozen vegetable ice pack, Kane looked like a man who had just discovered a food he hadn’t know was his favorite. Though his face was carefully neutral, his eyes were flashing like a falcon mid-dive on its way to slaughtering a juicy rabbit.</p><p><strong><em>Fuck!</em></strong> The fighter thought to herself, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from saying it aloud. Whatever had happened while she’d been patching up Juma had given the clean-cut man that look, and Amara was not looking forward to finding out what it was. She had a sinking feeling that she was going to want to fillet her olive-skinned comrade when she did.</p><p>She approached the two with caution but purposefully made her steps loud enough to be audible. The muted trotting of her boots had the desired effect when Hiram pulled himself up short and snapped his mouth closed on whatever heated comment he was about to make.</p><p>Kane nodded at her in greeting and rose from his chair to offer it to her. The spark in his eye making the fighter mentally curse again. She knew that look, and regretfully knew what it meant. He’d found out something fascinating and, like a cat, he was going to bat it around until it squeaked and gave him what he wanted.</p><p>Amara shot a look at Hiram to try and gauge what level of fuck up he’d gotten to, and was demoralized when he wouldn’t meet her eye. That meant ‘big fuck up’, and the fighter ground her back teeth together in frustration. Hiram had said something in his irritation that he was regretting now, and Amara would just have to wait to figure out what it was.</p><p>The trio remained in an awkward silence while Hiram’s ice pack was removed and replaced with an ace bandage. The rumpled man kept twitching under Amara’s questioning glare, and the fighter herself had to stop herself from fidgeting in response to the assistant’s own analyzing look. Kane finally broke the silence by leaning against the cinderblocks and clearing his throat. “I didn’t know you and Noble Plath’s dogs had a grudge going on.” He said, eyeing the fighter with an inquisitive air.</p><p>“We don’t.” Amara stated flatly, but she felt the muscle above her eye twitch.</p><p>“That’s not what Hiram said.” The assistant stated mockingly, and Amara sent a glare to her comrade that could have melted glass.</p><p>“Hiram needs to mind his own god damn business.” She growled out in response, and the other dog paled under his tan.</p><p>The fighter cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hiram is just gonna…” he trailed off and shot a thumb over his shoulder toward the cages.</p><p>“Go?” Amara finished for him, eyes hard. “Yes, yes he should.”</p><p>The fighter all but jumped off the bench, his scramble back to his cell only hindered by his wrapped ankle. Kane actually had the nerve to chuckle and Amara sent him a wary glance, bracing for the barrage of questions sure to follow.</p><p>Kane waited for a moment, staring after the retreating fighter with a calculating look on his face. “If you’ve got beef with another fighter would that cause a security issue?” he asked finally without looking down at her.</p><p>Amara shook her head and arched a brow at the question, daring to hope that maybe the rivalry between Plath and Yaruka was all the assistant had gleaned from her hot-tempered friend. “We handle our problems in the ring.” She responded, and the assistant nodded in understanding. Amara waited on baited breathe to see if there was more.</p><p>“I think I’m actually going to head out too.” The man said suddenly and much to the southerner’s shock. The relief she felt almost startled a hysterically giggle from her chest. It must have shown in her expression, so Kane sent her a sympathetic look. “It’s been a long night.” He stated calmly, and glance in the direction of the whippet.</p><p>Amara supposed she’d take that for what it was, and forcefully kept herself from glancing over at the corpse lying in the corner.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Twelve: The Hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Characters cross paths and sparks fly. This one should be fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Banner made a face as the coffee he’d just gulped seared the roof of his mouth and tongue. From her usual perch in the driver’s seat O’Neil snorted into her own cup, and he shot her a heated look. He didn’t say anything though. They’d been on midnight surveillance for four days, so he couldn’t exactly blame her for finding amusement where she could. Glancing across the darkened parking lot Banner took in the ornate sculpture surrounding the front door of the cathedral for the hundredth time. It wasn’t the exact same church as the one they’d used for the funeral of his CO, but it was damned close. Similar up to the haunting visages of saints glaring down at him in judgment. In the distorted half-light of the evening they looked even more condemnatory. As if they could see the partners in their patrol cruiser even with the reflector shields up, making the craft invisible to the human eye. </p><p>Tonight was shaping up to be just as fruitless as their other nights of observation and the detective again felt doubt creep into his mind. The captain had said it was a long shot. In fact, her exact words were something to the accord of, “<em>You’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell” </em>and then something like,<em> “It’s a damn pipe dream, detective</em>!”. She’d still given them the green light to try though, with the caveat that they would be on their own until they got the evidence they needed to call in back up. “<em>I can’t have half my force wasting their time combing through every dilapidated building in Midtown based on a splinter detective.</em>”</p><p>So far they were woefully short on that evidence and running out of time to find it. The NA special investigative unit was knocking on their front door, and the captain was a hairs breath away from handing them the case out of sheer frustration. But…Banner had a feeling about this church, and about this night. He wasn’t sure what it was. A feeling of foreboding in the air? A smell of blood on the wind? Something primal tickling his hindbrain and tensing his muscles in a way that made sitting confined in the cruiser almost unbearable? Whatever it was O’Neil must have been picking up on it too. She was oddly quiet and her keen eyes were sweeping the perimeter of the parking deck every thirty seconds.</p><p>It was still the slightest bit early. The fighting wouldn’t start until well after the sun had gone down, but if this was the ring location for the evening then patrons should be showing up any minute now. There were things that had to be set up before a fight. Holding cells, betting tables…VIP seating.</p><p>The Padre’s men would be the first. At the investor’s meetings they had always been present well before anyone else had arrived. Then would come the security guards and the fighters. Filches and watchers would trickle in after that up until the point that the first round started. Banner might not have ever been to a fight while undercover, but he was still good enough at his job to know the basic layout of the event.</p><p>Beside him O’Neil drummed her fingers on the side of her coffee and chewed on her bottom lip absently, eyes once again scanning. “Relax O’Neil.” He said, a bit hypocritically. “They’re not going to show up until they do. You’re making me antsy over there.”</p><p>His partner shot him an arched eyebrow and glanced down at his knee which, Banner realized with a wince, had been bouncing up and down for the last five minutes. He stopped the offending limb, and smiled at O’Neil apologetically. She rolled her eyes and went back to scanning the area, ardent gaze focused in to find even the most minuscule amount of movement in the stillness of the evening.</p><p>“You hear anything back from brass about that fighter that went missing out of transfer?” she asked, sipping her coffee absentmindedly.</p><p>“No.” he replied flatly, scanning the other half of their perimeter. “Story’s still the same. They went to get him out of his holding cell and he was just gone. Up in a puff of smoke.”</p><p>“Still can’t believe they didn’t get anything out of him before that.”</p><p>Banner snorted and took the lid off his cup, blowing on the steaming liquid so he wouldn’t burn his mouth again. “He was completely silent the entire time O’Neil. You can’t get much out of a concrete wall.”</p><p>“I could have gotten something out of him.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure you could have.”</p><p>“Seriously Banner I—” his partner cut herself off and leaned forward intently.</p><p>Banner followed her gaze and nearly threw his coffee into the cup holder between them. “What is it?” he asked, quickly.</p><p>“Eleven o’clock behind the dumpster.”</p><p>The detective zeroed in on the location and raked his eyes over every detail. Retrieving the binoculars from the floorboard, he pressed them to his eyes and focused in until he could almost read the faded graffiti smattered across the dumper. He waited, but nothing moved. Not even a stray cat fishing for an evening meal. He was about to ask O’Neil what she thought she saw, when far to the right of his field of vision a pair of legs disappeared along the side of the building. About forty seconds later it happened again.</p><p>Passing the binoculars to O’Neil he said, “Spot on. Look at the gap between the edge of the dumpster and the corner of the alcove. Looks like there’s a staircase or walkway that leads down the side of the building.”</p><p>“You thinking basement?” she asked, and Banner nodded absently. His mind was racing. There was no way for them to move the cruiser without alerting half the block that they were there. The feet very easily could have been squatters, though those were rare even in Trinity, or kids looking to tag something other than a dumpster for once. It could be a group of Good Samaritans looking to fulfill their moral duty by reviving an abandoned house of God. Or it could be the first flash of hope in a case that until this point has been as dry as the Sahara. They’d never know until then went and looked.</p><p>O’Neil was already ahead of them. “Base, this is cruiser 1501. We have some activity at a church on 16<sup>th</sup> and M. We’re gonna go take a look.”</p><p>“Rodger that 1501.” A clinical voice replied to her from the holo rad built into the cruiser’s dash. “We’ll have backup on standby.”</p><p>The pair waited a few minutes until the shadows of the rapidly setting sun had engulfed the hidden cruiser, then exited the craft, jogging low across the barren lot until they hit the front to the church. The door was chained shut and there was no way to cross to the side of the building without being seen. At a signal from Banner, O’Neil stepped into his cradled hands so she could pull herself up to the broken second level window above the head of a statue carrying a key. It was arrow slit thin, but O’Neil easily shimmied herself through the jagged hole and dropped down to the floor below. Banner waited anxiously, eyes scanning the perimeter and listening for the faintest noises, but he needn’t have worried. It wasn’t long before O’Neil was there, opening the door from the inside and shepherding him through into the dusty gloom of an entrance hall. He found himself facing what had undoubtedly once been a small prayer sanctuary. It had probably been used for weddings or funerals. Something where they hadn’t wanted to use the thundering mega cathedral that would have been used for regular service. She placed a finger to her lips and pointed to a stairwell to their left. Banner nodded and picked his way carefully over the abandoned hymnals scattered over the floor. If the church was being used, this part obviously was not included.</p><p>Banner kept his hand on his side piece as they ascended the stairs. It was loaded with rubber bullets, as was standard procedure, but it would still knock the piss out of anyone that might be waiting for them above. As they rounded the top of the stairs, lines of choir pews and scattered sheet music came into view. An overturned music stand sat toppled across the entrance as if barring their way. The detectives easily stepped over it and crouched down as they came into the choir loft. Muffled voices and a dull light came from the floor below, and the partners flattened themselves against the carved guard rail of the booth. O’Neil darted to the opposite side, quick and quiet as a church mouse, and Banner for once envied her shorter stature. She knelt down to peer through a crack in the railings closely boarded front, then looked back to him with a fire-eyed smirk. Pressing his back further into the ornate oak, where an angle’s wing was digging painfully into his kidney, Banner chanced a small glance over the railing.</p><p>Below them, a sand filled pit gaped like an open maw. Light bled from its sides like a wound and a few small figures could be seen crawling across it like maggots. The quiet voices he could hear were indiscernible, but the cadence of them was something other than English. As he watched, a bald and tattooed man was lead across the pit by two men dressed in suits. One of them was barking something harsh into a phone, and the other was talking to the man as if they were two friends strolling through a park. His brightly colored arm lifted, and he scratched at the collar around his neck.</p><p>Banner ducked back down and made eye contact with his partner. He felt his pulse ratchet up as he saw the same look of victory he could feel stretching across his face, mirrored from across the choir booth. </p><p>Motioning his partner over, the detective ducked back down into the stairwell. Banner already had his holo in hand, but he paused as a thought occurred to him. “O’Neil” he whispered, drawing her over. “We’ve got two options here. We call in backup now and nail most of the men working these fights and maybe a few fighters…”</p><p>“Or?” she hissed, eyeing him keenly and arching a brow.</p><p>“Or we wait and draw more flies into the trap.”</p><p>O’Neil chewed on her lip and Banner felt his own gut clench with indecision.</p><p>“If we let too many show up we’ll be outnumbered.” She said finally. “Even with the entire force behind us it would be a stretch, and we’re not going to get that this late notice.”</p><p>Banner nodded clicked his holo on. “Base this is 1501. We have confirmed fighting ring activity at the church. I repeat, we have confirmed fighting ring activity at the church. Request for back up immediately, but do not deploy until our go ahead.”</p><p>“Rodger 1501.” The crackle of the radio almost made the detective drop the device it seemed so loud in the relative silence of the stairs. “Is there a reason for deploy delay?”</p><p>“We’re inside. If you blow our cover we’re screwed, and there aren’t many suspects present. Wait for our go. Rodger?”</p><p>“Rodger 1501, we will wait for your go.”</p><p>Banner pocketed the device and the partners made eye contact. The pounding of his heart was echoed in O’Neil’s bright eyes and hesitant smile. They had done it. They had <em>mother fucking</em> done it! The heady feeling of relief and adrenaline was potent, but Banner stamped it down. He saw his partner do the same, and he saw her shoulders square. They still had work to do. Game faces on, they crept back down the stairwell and crouched back by the door. Christ on his crucifix stared down at them, forlorn.</p><p>“We need to find a way to get down there.” Banner whispered, indicating with a nod of his head the direction to the ring. “When the squad shows up I don’t want anybody slipping through the cracks again.”</p><p>O’Neil nodded. “I saw a back hall on my way in. It might circle back around to the basement.”</p><p>Banner agreed with a jerk of his head, and stepped aside to allow his partner to lead the way. They kept low, and moved swiftly but silently. Clearing corners and peering down causeways, the detective felt his pulse rise with every hallway that they cleared. At the end of the last row of rooms they found another staircase. This one appeared to be in frequent use, and there was a very tense moment when they heard footsteps on the landing below them. They faded down to a lower level though, and both the partners let loose the breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding.</p><p>They were at a dead end. No way to get down without passing someone, and no way to go around without being seen by the men working below. They hemmed and hawed for a while, debating what to do next, when word came in over Banner’s holo that a strike team was in place on the outer perimeter of the church, and they were just waiting for an access point and a go-ahead. The team’s captain, a cocksure man named Victor Pike, bickered with them for a while before O’Neil told them both to shut the fuck up when she heard yet another person coming up the stairs. The partners froze, and once again breathed a sigh of relief when they remained undiscovered by the skin of their teeth. Snatching the holo from Banner’s hand, O’Neil hissed into the com device like a snake.</p><p>“Listen Pike! Pull your head out of your ass and follow our lead you self-righteous cock knob! If we get made, fine. Send in the masses, it’ll be a fucking party! But until then you stay fucking put. You move on our go, and that’s final.” She thrust the holo back to her partner and Banner heard her mutter to herself caustically as she continued to look around for a solution. Shaun shook his head in wonder and did Pike the courtesy of radioing in their location before joining his partner on the hunt. Luck, apparently, was on their side.</p><p>O’Neil, as always, came in clutch when she opened a small door to their left and discovered a long row of pipes the lead down into a dark abyss. “Organ pipes.” She said, waving him over and grinning at him from behind the door.</p><p>Banner gave her a feral grin of his own and shined his flashlight down the darkened shaft. The light was absorbed, but Banner thought he could discern an end down there somewhere.“They must’ve used these doors to clean and inspect the pipes.” He said. “Hell of a lot easier than knocking down half the church when the organ’s out of tune.” Reaching forward, Shaun grasped the nearest pipe, which was about half the diameter of an old telephone pole, and gave it a brief shake. There was a quiet rattle, but as long as they didn’t go banging around too much it wasn’t anything that the mild chatter they could hear below them wouldn’t cover-up.</p><p>“You ever want to be a firefighter O’Neil?” he asked, clamping his light between his teeth and swinging forward to wrap his arms and legs around the pipe. She scoffed at him, and reached for the pipe to his left. “Fuck no Banner.” She hissed. “My daddy always told me to stay off the pole.”</p><p>Banner had to fight the urge to laugh as she loosened her legs and began to descend ahead of him. “Let’s go.” He heard her breathe, as he followed her down into the dark.</p><p> </p><p>…………………………………….</p><p> </p><p>Amara nodded to Martin as she rounded the corner of the hall. Behind him Garret raised a hand in greeting from between his two requisite mountains of muscle. She shot him a brief salute, but didn’t bother trying to start up a conversation. Once the stiffs had left their charge in the pit’s loving care Amara could go see him. As it stood, the two guards gave her a dirty look as she passed, unescorted.</p><p>Garret’s Noble was a stickler for security. In general, most Nobles were, but once the dogs were in the holding rooms the rules changed. Loyalty and attitude were judged over time, and if you proved yourself to be trustworthy to the padre’s captains, Carlos’s men had no problem with granting a few liberties here and there. Being the last original came with some perks at least. At this point she could almost move completely unencumbered, as long as it was before patrons started showing up. Filches could hang, and knew the score between dog and kennel master, but watchers and nobles alike started to get twitchy when they saw a fighter walking around without a leash.</p><p>She ambled her way up the staircase, hands shoved in her pockets and humming an old tune to herself. It had atypically been a calm and decent week, and Amara was still riding the high. After the complete shit storm of last week’s fight, she had been prepared to be fielding questions off Kane every thirty seconds, and had quietly contemplated how to castrate Hiram without having to make him throw a match. She’d grilled the other dog after Kane had returned to the box, and had concluded that, unless Kane had been completely off his game, he <em>must</em> have figured out how open the fighters were with one another. </p><p>But surprisingly the assistant had mostly left her be. She hadn’t been summoned by Yaruka to spill her guts about what she knew about the other Nobles, and from what she could tell from her one interaction with the man over the week, Kane hadn’t even told him about Plath’s irksome little grudge. Amara was torn between wanting to believe that the assistant had let the topic drop to help her out, and cynically thinking that the man was just biding his time to let the information drop at the most opportune moment.</p><p>What he<em> had </em>asked about had turned out to be relatively innocent. Simple questions about how she’d met some of the other fighters. Or inquiries about some innocuous details related to her clan. Things that he had seemed genuinely curious about, and when she thought about it, it had actually been kind of comforting to share. It would have been suspicious had Amara not been so god damned grateful to have dodged that particular bullet (at least for now), and to finally have someone to confide in. Even if it was only a little bit. The assistant had proven to be strangely considerate over the past week, and Amara had decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.</p><p>Instead she had, for once, actually been able to focus on her training. She’d gotten a new kick mastered for her trouble, and had weaseled a book on circuitry out of the garage to fill her evenings. All in all it had been a refreshing and grounding week. For the first time since the bust it felt like things were headed back toward normal, and the weight it took off her shoulders was a relief.</p><p>Amara took the last few stairs two at a time and rolled her head upwards to take in the painted fresco ceiling as she entered what had once been a worship hall. The larger part of the cathedral had been gutted to allow for the ring, but this smaller prayer room and entrance hall had been left mostly unmolested. Tiny cherubs smiled at her from gauzy corners as they flitted around the Virgin Mary. Her face was ethereal as usual. The perfect mother reaching her hands downward to welcome the fallen sinners. Amara resisted the urge to snort and made her way over to the entrance hall where she could access the small choir loft.</p><p>The space wasn’t clean or calm in a conventional sense. It was dusty and there was still sheet music and hymnals scattered around the floor, but it gave the fighter a sense of peace. Looking down on the pit made it seem smaller somehow, and the relative quiet of the place helped her focus.</p><p>Something was nagging at her though, as she made her way past the door and up the stairs. An annoying little tickle that kept squawking at her as she leaned her elbows on the booth railing and leaned forward at the waist. A bother that shuffled across her eardrum like a cockroach, and made her shoulders twitch.</p><p>This molar grinding niggle in the back of her mind persisted, even as she tried to calm her suddenly racing mind and loosen muscles that shouldn’t’ve been tensing.</p><p><strong><em>Well, this ain’t good</em></strong>, she thought, running a hand through the front of her hair and closed her eyes. The southerner took a deep breath and let the exhale sink her down into herself. When her hindbrain started pinging like this it usually meant there was something that she was missing. Something that her body knew, but her mind hadn’t quite caught up to yet. Sometimes the only solution for it was to just bite the bullet, connect to Katuwa, and hope that the fallout wasn’t too catastrophic.</p><p>Like a key in a lock, the tumblers fell into place and suddenly everything was in Technicolor. Her usual perceptions were better than average, but this amount of knowledge overload was heady. Too much to take in on a regular basis, and even if she could, it would have blown her cover in less than an hour. Twitching at every rat that scuttled through the ceiling or sniffing at every new aroma, though semi-normal to her people, made you look like a lunatic in pretty short order in a place like Midtown. She was already a freak of nature, and adding to that plate was not something the fighter was looking to do any time soon. There was only so much weird people would put up with before they started toting pitchforks, and Amara was not going to be the one to set off another witch hunt. She had enough problems to deal with as it stood.</p><p>Problems, like the sent that smacked her in the nose the second it could be discerned as more than a whisper. <strong><em>Cheap deodorant and aftershave mixed with cat and gunmetal</em></strong>. Or problems like the subtle shift in the fine layer of dust and old papers that scattered the choir booth that had been unperceivable before, but now made it look like the place had been ransacked.</p><p>Problems, like the fact that Detective Shaun Banner and an unknown woman had been here less than an hour ago, and their scents led down toward the pit.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Shit!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Amara was up and moving down the stairs before she could even fully process the information. Sprinting through the prayer hall, she registered faintly that the scents were just getting fresher. Their mingled aromas melded with sweat and adrenaline. They were still here, which meant one of two things. A- They had come in with a strike team that had already infiltrated, which meant they were royally fucked. Or B- they had come alone and were still poking around, trying to figure out how to get a strike team in place unnoticed. Amara hoped to Katuwa it was the latter.</p><p>The scents diverged up toward the wrap-around hall, but Amara spent less than a half-second deciding not to follow them, and took a sharp left instead. First she needed to alert the masses. Regardless of the FED’s current location, they needed to get gone and get gone now. She’d sniff out the rats later.</p><p>Kicking in the door at the back of the prayer hall, Amara raced through the courtyard that was at the heart of the massive church’s structure, and separated her from the main cathedral. She wasn’t going to waste time running through the house of God’s twisted corridors, and despite the fact that this was probably going to hurt like a bitch, it was her fastest option.</p><p>Picking up a rock from one of the dried-up flower beds, the fighter threw it through a stained glass window that depicted Christ carrying a lamb, and leapt.</p><p><strong><em>Yep, still hurt.</em></strong> She thought, wincing as metal and glass dug into her shoulder. Even without breaking the glass with her body, the leaden cames that held the panes in place were solid and would leave behind some pretty spectacular bruises. They folded under her weight none the less, and Amara rolled forward, scratching her cheek and embedding little pieces of glass in her hands, only to pop up on her feet again, already running.</p><p>“We got FEDs!” she yelled, sprinting around the rim of the pit. “Salir ahora, dispersión! Scatter!” A few faces rose to meet her and stared at her racing from dumbly. Amara realized she was talking too fast, breathing too hard for them to understand her. Changing course, the fighter recalled the padre’s men giving one of their own some shit about a mistake he’d made when they were cleaning out the church, and vaulted over a pew to skid to a stop next to the dilapidated organ. Slamming her hand down on the keys, the southerner braced herself as an unholy roar filled the cathedral. The ancient and long silent pipes clattered and sang as air traveled down them for the first time in probably twenty years. Dust billowed from the top of the conduits and people everywhere stopped to cover their ears at the disjointed moan. Amara removed her hand from the keys, now that she had everyone’s attention, and cupped her hands around her mouth.</p><p>“FEDs in the building! Grab everything and scatter! FED estan aqui! Mueve tus culos!” she barked at her stunned audience. “GO!”</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Thirteen: The Chase</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Banner and O’Neil had made it about halfway down their makeshift poles when the pipe Banner was clinging to began to vibrate. He only had time to shoot his partner a concerned look before the channel above him exploded with noise. Banner jammed his ear down on his shoulder and nearly fell when he tried to cover his other ear with his hand. He winced as the disorderly wail pierced his eardrum and clung to the pipe for dear life. Over it all he faintly heard his partner yelling, “WHAT THE FUCK!?!” and glanced over in her direction. She had her hands over her ears to try and save her own hearing and was clinging to the pipe by her thighs and the crook of her elbow.</p><p>As quick as it had started it all stopped, and the pair were left panting at each other in silence that still echoed.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Shit!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Banner cursed internally, and skinned down the pole as fast as he could. O’Neil landed behind him and the pair made their way over to where they could see light spilling in from a small door.</p><p>Banner peered through the crack, and felt his gut clench. Standing next to a broken down organ and panting like she’d run a marathon stood the wolf. “FEDs in the building!” she screamed, cupping her hands about her mouth and projecting her voice downward. The woman was already bleeding, and Banner for a moment wondered if the fights had already started. The lack of spectators made him dismiss the idea a moment later.</p><p>Behind him O’Neil grabbed her holo. “Deploy! We’ve been made, I repeat, deploy!” she hissed, and Shaun heard a crackle over the radio.</p><p>“No shit!?!Already on it! Jesus Christ, what did you do!?!” he heard Pike bark from the other line.</p><p>“Grab everything and scatter! FED estan aqui!” the wolf, continued snapping Banner’s attention back to the crack he squinted through. The detective recognized the Spanish, though he didn’t understand the exact words, and in a small part of his mind he was surprised at her confidence in the language.</p><p>“Mueve tus culos! GO!”</p><p>Then again, he probably didn’t need to know the exact translation.</p><p>Turning to his partner Banner stowed his flashlight and pulled his weapon from its holster. He chambered a round and said, “When we go in on the right there’s a stairwell. Probably goes down to wherever they're keeping the fighters. Tell Pike to go around the building and cut them off at the back.”</p><p>O’Neil nodded and relayed the info, retrieving her own weapon and moving to his left. “On three.” She said, and Banner took a step back dutifully.</p><p>“One, two…Three!”</p><p>The detective drove his foot into the door, right next to the lock mechanism, and the partners barreled through it as the jam gave. They moved in practiced grace, Banner to the right, O’Neil to the left as they had a hundred times before. “Federal Officers! Show me your hands!” </p><p>The pair had just enough time to register that the wolf was already moving. Probably <em>had</em> already been moving when they’d busted out of their pipe organ passage, before she was on them. Banner leveled his gun at her, but before he could pull the trigger she’d grabbed the barrel and forced it toward the ceiling. A shot rang out and went wild.</p><p>The fighter growled, actually <em>growled </em>at him, and Shaun felt an ‘<em>oh shit’</em> run across his mind. With a vindictive jerk of her hand, the fighter twisted the barrel of the gun to the side, nearly breaking Shaun’s finger in the process, and pulled the weapon free with a backward tug. At the same time she punched him in the face. By the time Banner knew what hit him he was on his ass and his own gun was pointed at his partner.</p><p>Everything froze. O’Neil’s own gun was leveled at the fighter's head, and she was glaring for all she was worth at the scarred woman who’d just laid out her partner. Banner looked up at the tiny creature that was snarling in Spanish at the men screaming at her to ‘shoot them’ from the bottom of the ring. “Callate! Deja de hablar y vete! Get the fuck out of here Jorje! You!” she barked, addressing O’Neil for the first time. “Drop it or you buddy here gets one in the eye.” She lowered the gun to hover over the detective’s pupil, and Shaun felt himself swallow. </p><p>The muscle in O’Neil’s jaw ticked, but reluctantly she lowered her gun.</p><p>“Put it on the ground, and take three steps back.”</p><p>His partner wavered, but a pointed jerk of the barrel toward Banner’s eye got her moving. “Ok! Ok! Take it easy. Nobody’s got to get hurt.” She placated, raising her hands by her head and stepping back. The slight twitch of her right index finger told Banner all he needed to know. When they got an opening, he’d break right, and go for the knees.</p><p>The wolf smirked, in an expression that was half grimace. The movement on her face pulled at a scar on her lip, twisting her features up into a feral snarl.</p><p>“That’s cute. You should have given up when you had the chance Banner.” She growled, glancing down at the detective at her feet for only a hair’s breadth before her eyes were back on his partner.</p><p>“Amara! What the fuck is—?!” The tattooed man they’d seen from the choir booth jogged into the cathedral from behind the altar and froze.</p><p>“Bluetick! What are you still doing here? Get going!” the wolf…<strong><em>Amara apparently </em></strong>ordered, her brows drawing down and eyes flashing.</p><p>The man’s jaw clenched and he shook his head, eyeing the two FED officers. “Muscle’s gone.” He said with a thick dockside accent. “Think they split. There’re grey skins comin’ in through the back. Martin’s got ‘em pinned down and he’s got the torches, but we—”</p><p>“Go to Phasor’s and wait for me there.” Amara barked, cutting him off, but not unkindly. It was the voice of a general, hard and knowing, and Banner felt his spin straiten on instinct.</p><p>The ‘Bluetick’ nodded and stepped behind her cautiously, keeping his eye on Banner and O’Neil. “Got it boss….But, you sure you ain’t need no help with these ones?” he asked at her shoulder, and the other fighter shook her head. The man nodded in acceptance, and started moving quickly toward the back entrance of the cathedral. “Keep your ears up wolf!” he shouted, and jogged out of sight.</p><p>There was a pause where everything hung in a tense silence, besides the scuttle of feet rapidly disappearing down the tunnel toward what Banner assumed was a front exit, and then he heard gunfire break out from the back of the building.</p><p>“So, badass,” O’Neil asked with a sneer in her voice, hands still raised by her head “what are you going to do now?”</p><p>Amara smirked. “You cops fancy yourselves real good hunters, don’t you? Well,” she said, and took a step backward. “I’m gonna give y’all something to chase.”</p><p>She raised the gun over her head and fired off half a dozen rounds. The rubber bullets ricocheted off the frescoed ceiling and Banner felt one bit into his shin. He curled into a ball and tucked his head. Behind him O’Neil dove for cover behind a pew.</p><p>When the fire stopped, he raised his head just fast enough to see the fighter turn on the safety, release the clip and throw the now ammo-less gun across the cathedral, before she broke for the lip of the pit. She took one last look over at the partners, almost appeared to be checking on them, before she planted one booted foot on the guard rail and vaulted into the ring like a high diver.</p><p>………………………………</p><p> </p><p>Amara rolled on the sand to slow her momentum. She caught an image of someone’s back disappearing down the north tunnel, before her roll took her already abused shoulder into the plywood siding of the ring painfully.</p><p><strong><em>I have </em></strong><strong>really<em> got to stop jumping into shit</em></strong>, she thought, wincing, and then pushed herself to her feet.</p><p>Loud banging and shouts could be heard from the south tunnel, leading toward the back entrance of the church. As she ran down the rows of rooms she passed the last few stragglers who hadn’t gotten the hell out of dodge when the organ went off. Tracy bolted past, Jorje hot on her heels, and Amara chanced and brief salute as they passed. Their exit was tight, but at least it looked like most of the people were going to get out before the FED force that was surrounding the building closed the gate on them. Thank Katuwa for small mercies. The evidence they left behind, however, could tank them all if this shit show went any further.</p><p>The scent of fire and gunmetal drew her down the tunnel. At the end of the hall Martin was spraying bullets from a semi-automatic at anyone who even twitched toward the bottom of the exterior stairwell that led into the holding floor. To his right, surprisingly, was Demarko. He was laying down suppressive fire with his 9mm when Martin went to re-load, and was covering the secondary entrance from the back of the altar while he was firing.  </p><p>“What the fuck are you doing here Demarko!?!”</p><p>“Trying to find your scrawny ass!” he responded, and squeezed off a couple rounds. “Let’s move! Smith’s cleared a path off the other side. Mathur’s inbound with a car.”</p><p>The man turned and went to grab Amara’s arm, but she side stepped shaking her head. “We can’t leave the ring like this. Take Martin on my go and get the hell out of the building! Tell Kane I’ll be at Phasor’s shop. He’ll figure it out. You can get me there once the heat is off.”</p><p>“I don’t think you understand me!” he yelled, muzzle flashes illuminating the fear and determination in his eyes. “We’re going, now!”</p><p>Amara glanced over to Martin, who was yelling insults in rapid-fire Spanish between bursts of bullets, and who looked like he was resigned to throwing himself to the FED so everyone else could escape. The fighter thought of Tracy running for her life down the tunnel and shook her head again. Before Demarko could make another grab for her she lunged across the hall to Martin’s side and grabbed the gasoline and road flares that had rested behind the man. Elbowing the captain back, she poured a sloppy mess of gas across the hall, ducking under his continued fire.</p><p>Lighting the flare, Amara sent a wave of gratitude toward Carlos for his foresight. After the warehouse bust the Padre had ensured there was enough fire and fuel at each ring local to burn the place to the ground if need be. <strong><em>And the need definitely </em>fucking<em> be!</em></strong> She though. One building full of evidence had been enough. It wouldn’t happen again.</p><p>“Sorry D!” she yelled at the horror-struck bodyguard still trying to reach for her, then she dropped the flare and stepped back. Flames shot up between them, and Demarko stumbled back in outrage, lest he catch himself on fire. The old hardwood and drywall went up like a Roman candle.</p><p>“God Damn it Amara!” she heard the irate man shout, but Martin was already pulling him down the tunnel, a look of gratitude on his face illuminated through the flames. She winked at him, then turned and waited. The fire behind her spread down the hall, moving toward the oxygen rich open cathedral and feeding on the dried and holy timbers. After a short pause, a tentative foot appeared at the bottom of the steps, surrounded by shouts to call in a fire rig. When it wasn’t met with a bullet, grey-clad bodies descended after it.</p><p>“Yo FED!” Amara yelled, and flashlights swung in her direction. “Ya’ll lookin' for a dog fight!?!” </p><p>And then she ran. Breaking left and dashing up the stairs that lead to the back of the alter, the southerner waved at the FED behind her, and heard them all give chase. It wasn’t like they had anywhere else to go. The south tunnel was already being consumed by flames, and back out to the rear entrance would get then nowhere. They had no choice but to follow her if they want to actually do their jobs, and based on how many pairs of boots she heard thumping after her, it sounded like they were doing so with gusto.</p><p>Amara busted through the side door on the cathedral’s main stage, knocking over an altar cross in the process, and took off 'round the pit. Deep in her chest, the dog felt something lunge forward violently in hunger as she ran, and the veracity of it surprised her. She realized, belatedly, that her senses were still wide open, and that it was Fire who was leaping forth with such carnal yearning. Her elemental cousin was eating her fill on the church and only growing hungrier. Amara’s skin felt the heat from across the cathedral, and a shiver ran up her spine. She had wondered, distantly, how she’d known that Banner and his partner were hidden in the organ pipe shaft, but hadn’t questioned it at the time when she’d launched her attack. Now she realized that their scents must have given them away.</p><p>It felt like the world was coming apart around her. Every shout from the pursuing FED range in her ears and every twitch of their movement sent her mind careening through a thousand possibilities of how to mitigate it. Life was spinning out into chaos to escape the flames, and the fighter’s core was longing to do the same. A purely instinctual reaction to run in the face of Fire, and never look back as you’re doing it. But she couldn’t let herself give in to that primal desire. She needed to stay in her own skin right now, no matter how much she wanted to use her mother’s DNA to get herself out of this shit storm, and continue this bat shit crazy chase that she’d so brilliantly thrown herself into.</p><p>Bursting through the arched doors of the cathedral, she spun to her left to avoid a hail of rubber bullets. <strong><em>Get on the roof, get off the building. Get on the roof, get off the building. Get on the roof, get off the—</em></strong>She kept chanting it to herself, as if the repetition could somehow make it work.</p><p>Skidding to a stop, Amara contemplated her predicament in the span of a few heartbeats. To her left lay the stairs and derelict elevator that lead up to the back of the balcony. If she was fast enough, she might make it up the stairs and into a hidy-hole with enough time to shift skins and make it to the roof. But she only had a few seconds before the FED saw her, and they <em>would</em> follow her up the stairs. Even if they didn’t see her enter the stairwell, it was her only sane option. Some lucky SOB would get the job of clearing the steps and would inevitably catch her on the landing. A confined area with limited places to hide and a plethora of sightlines to stick a tranq-dart in her neck or a bullet in her thigh? Yeah, not thanks. And if they caught her while she was changing shape….</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Fuck it! </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Amara broke right. Sliding through the door that lead back out to the courtyard, the fighter skirted the side of the building in a crouch to avoid the lights that came trialing her through the window and the eyes that followed them.</p><p>“Hanes! Ortiz! Clear the courtyard! Mahan, Lawrence! Open up that elevator shaft! The rest of you, with me up the stairs!” She heard the barked orders and made it to the corner just in time to duck behind the feet of a marble saint before two grey skins busted into the courtyard, nearly knocking the ancient doors off their hinges.</p><p>The pair separated and started making their around the courtyard slowly. They knew they had her trapped if she was out here. From inside, the fighter could hear grunting and faint cursing. She pitied whoever Mahan and Lawrence were. It took a lot of muscle to force open elevator doors more than the few inches that were required if the car was ever to get stuck between floors, and that wasn’t even accounting for the decades of rust that had probably built up on the ones guarding the cathedral’s elevator shaft. The fact that they thought she could have done so on her own in less than a few seconds was a little bit flattering, if the fighter could say so herself.</p><p>Regardless, they wouldn’t find her there. They <em>would</em> find her behind the statue, however, if she didn’t start moving. Glancing up, the fighter spared a brief moment to smirk as she identified St. Anthony of Padua as the man who’s feet she bowed at; the flowers in his hand giving away his identity. <strong><em>Saint of lost objects</em></strong>, she thought sardonically. <strong><em>Rather apt. I’m sure my security detail is praying to you as we speak. </em></strong></p><p>Reaching up, and carefully making sure her body stayed out of sight in the shadows at the corner of the courtyard, Amara grasped the top of St. Anthony’s shoulder and shoved a boot in the expertly carved folds of his robe to pull herself up. Like many Greco Roman cathedrals, this one was dripping with holy sculpture and imagery that had lasted the test of time. If there was one organization in the past that could afford good building material, it had been the church. The fact that all this decoration was traditionally congregated at the corners of the building was all the better, and was proving rather convenient for the heretic currently pulling herself hand over fist on to the upturned face of baby Jesus.</p><p>Swinging over, and wedging herself between two buttresses, the fighter paused to catch her breath. Below her the FED were sweeping their lights across the feet of St. Anthony, and it wouldn’t do to have them looking up because of her huffing and puffing. As the grey skin called in a faint ‘All clear!’ Amara sighed out a breath in relief. She instantly regretted it though, because that brief relaxation of her muscles had made her quad sag just the slightest bit, and the southerner had to scramble to keep herself from falling. A fall from this height <em>might</em> not kill her, but it would certainly leave a mark.</p><p>Looking up, she spotted a gargoyle with a broad back that looked like it could support her weight. She spider crawled up until she could reach a hand up to grab its snarling bottom jaw, then poured what strength she had left into her arms to pull herself up.</p><p>Laying on her back, she panted at the moon that hung almost mockingly bright overhead, and sent a wave a gratitude up to Katuwa.</p><p><strong><em>Too fucking close</em></strong>. She thought, and heaved herself up into a sitting position with her back against the wall of the church. She whipped her still bleeding hands on her pants distractedly, mildly wondering if there was now a trail of bloody handprints up the side of the cathedral. Not that it would matter in a few hours anyway. She could still feel Fire gnawing on the old structure, and there wasn’t a fire rig in sight. Soon the damage would be irreparable, and the sanctuary would fall to the flames. <strong><em>I am getting way too old…old-ish… for this shit.</em></strong></p><p>She gave herself two minutes, then shifted over to her knees and took a deep breath. <strong><em>Air buddy, I’m gonna need your help. </em></strong>A breeze tickled her cheek. <strong><em>Fire’s busy and Earth is a long way away at the moment. How about we go with something familiar?</em></strong></p><p>………………………….</p><p>Wind caressed the sculpted sides of the house of God and fed the flames burning its heart out. The limbs of long-dead trees danced in the moonlight. People washed in grey scatted from the structure as its first supports gave out. Above it all a red tailed hawk soared southward, and cried out as the ashes rose up into the clouds.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Fourteen: The Kill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Glancing back in the direction they’d come from, Banner took in the smoke rising toward the moon and hissed a wince through his teeth.</p><p>“Well, that’s going to give the fire department a run for their money.” O’Neil quipped quietly from where she jogged beside him. “And it sure as shit isn’t coming out of my paycheck.”</p><p>Banner huffed out a laugh and slowed so he could glance around a corner. They’d been heading steadily south for the last ten minutes, and were well into Downtown at this point. The dockside area reeked of brine and a sea side fog had settled over the midnight streets, chilling them and giving the place a haunted air. Before them, the tattooed fighter from the ring was moving with purposeful caution as he flitted from street to street. The detective caught his back as he turned right down an alley and disappeared from view.</p><p>“One and a half blocks down and right.” He whispered, and O’Neil nodded in ascension. They rounded the corner and stopped at the mouth of the alley, crouching behind a set of trash cans and broken wooden crates. Peering in cautiously, Banner saw the man taking a breather at the end of the passage, breath heavy and eyes cutting down both cross streets searchingly. He was bent double, one hand on his knee and the other tugging at the electric-blue collar about his neck as if it was choking him. As the thing loosened somewhat Banner noted the Japanese dragon and lotus blossoms embossed on its surface for later.    </p><p> “He’s waiting for something.” O’Neil breathed from behind him, and Banner nodded in agreement.</p><p>It had been O’Neil’s idea to follow the fighter, and as soon as they’d seen the fire shuttles flying overhead he’d been grateful he’d agreed to it. Back at the church, after he pulled himself off the floor and retrieved his ankle piece, he’d almost given chase to the scarred woman who’d given him his rapidly swelling jaw. O’Neil had pulled him back though, and had taken off out the front of the church after the blue tick at a sprint. He’d followed her, reasoning at the time that the wolf was long gone and that whatever personnel left in the building would surely be rounded up by the strike team. That was, until they’d gotten word that the cathedral was on fire and falling apart around the strike team’s ears. Now it looked like this was the only collar they could snag, and the partners weren’t going to let it get away without a fight.</p><p>“I thought I told you to meet me at Phasor’s?” a voice asked from the end of the alley, and the blue tick whipped his head around to meet it.</p><p>“Figured you’d come ‘is way if ya made it out.” He responded, and smiled as she stepped into the light. Banner tensed and felt O’Neil do the same. It looked like maybe the wolf wasn’t as long gone as they’d thought.</p><p>“I appreciate it man. You ok?”</p><p>Amara stepped up to the blue tick’s side and placed a blood-stained hand on his shoulder. There was a still oozing cut on her cheek that cracked open as she smiled and she held her right arm to her stomach like it hurt.</p><p>“Me? Hell, I’m fine. You look like shit thou’.” The other fighter responded, and pulled a bandanna from his pocket to press to her cheek.</p><p>“Thanks.” She deadpanned, but pressed the offered cloth to her face anyway.</p><p>The two rested there for a moment, quiet. The wolf looked like a stiff breeze could blow her over at any time, but she stood at the ready in a way that spoke of practice. Banner remembered his own days of pushing through that kind of exhaustion during the FU. Hours that seemed to stretch for days, where your body was screaming for rest but your mind knew you might have to push it back into gear at a moment’s notice.</p><p>The blue tick leaned back against the alley wall and put his hands in his pockets with a chagrined expression. “Hey Amara, look…I’m sorry ‘bout back at da church.” He said, and looked over at the woman like a kicked puppy.</p><p>“They know my name now Garret.” She said, after eyeing him quietly for a moment.</p><p>“I know. An’ I’m sorry.”</p><p>She shook her head and sighed. “Doesn’t matter now. We were getting too careless with names anyway. It was only a matter of time before somebody slipped up. Let’s just get to—” and she cut herself off. Her eyes rounded and her head whipped in the direction of the road.</p><p>“What?” Garret asked, and he stood from his lean in a hurry.</p><p>Banner tensed and clicked the safety off on his weapon. This one was his backup, and loaded with live ammunition. His standard issue was lost somewhere in the ashes of the cathedral. As the wolf waited and stared at the mouth of the alley, the detective prayed that he didn’t have to use it.</p><p>The wolf’s eyes raked over the debris scattered around the mouth of the alleyway. Banner was frozen where he crouched behind a trashcan, not even breathing as a bead of sweat made its way down the side of his face. A breeze ruffled his hair, and the fighter grabbed her comrade by the front of the shirt. “You’ve got a tail. Move!”</p><p>“Fuck!” Banner spat, and took off down the alley, O’Neil hot on his heels.</p><p>The fighters went left, and bolted down the passage toward a cross street. “How the hell does she keep finding us!?” O’Neil asked, jiving around a recycling bin and leveling her gun at the pair just as they reached the end of the alley. “Freeze! FED!” she shouted, and squeezed off a round that bounced off the concrete between the fighters’ feet.</p><p>The duo skidded to a halt, and the wolf threw a scathing look over her shoulder. “Son of a bitch Banner! You and your friend there just don’t know when to quit!”</p><p>They turned to face the detectives, and Banner leveled his own weapon at the tattooed fighter. </p><p>“I’ve never been one to know that kind of thing.” He said, slightly out of breath and slowing his jog to a controlled walk. “Especially when it comes to breaking the law. My friend here neither.” He continued and jerked his head to the right, indicating his partner who was zeroed in on the female fighter.</p><p>They stepped forward, weapons unwavering as they cut the distance between them and the dogs eyeing them from the end of the concrete and brick tunnel. They were tense; poised to move at a moment’s hesitation from the detectives, but Shaun knew neither he nor O’Neil would give them one. It didn’t hurt to try and throw them off their game, however. Especially the woman, who had (annoyingly) successfully evaded him twice now. He figured introductions were in order anyway, so he cleared his throat and spoke. “O’Neil, this is the fighter Tania told us about. The wolf.”</p><p>The woman’s jaw muscle ticked and the blue tick shifted nervously to her right. “Or should I call you Amara?” he continued, and her eyes narrowed contemptuously.</p><p>“I was wondering how she knew your name.” O’Neil responded, catching his game and playing along. She was smart enough to have made the connection back at the church, but played the unobservant fool to unsettle the crafty fighters before they could make a play at running for it. She reached back and pulling a pair of cuffs from her belt, continuing. “Though, I guess you’re probably pretty famous at the fights though, aren’t you Banner?”</p><p>“Oh yeah, he’s a real celebrity.” The blue tick finally spoke, malice dripping from his heavily accented tone. “Got ‘is picture up on the wall an’ ever’thang.” </p><p>Banner felt his shoulders stiffen at the implication of that, and felt his bravado from earlier melt the slightest bit. He knew they’d know his face from here on out, lest he foolishly try to re-infiltrate as a UC. But by implying that his face was on their shortlist of enemies meant that they were actively hunting him.</p><p>It was doubting…and probably just a distraction technique. They were playing his game right back at him, and it was as irritating as it was unsettling. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and tried to shake off his sudden unease. O’Neil, however, had obviously recognized the veiled threat and her tone darkened as she spoke.</p><p>“Both of you, on the ground. Now.”</p><p>Amara smirked. “Aw, come on now Officer. We didn’t mean to offend. You shouldn’t worry about Banner. As long as he keeps that pretty little head of his down we won’t have to take it off his shoulders.”</p><p>Banner, despite himself, felt a shiver run down his spine. He <em>knew</em> it was a vacant threat. The rings would have to be insane to come after a FED officer, and the sophisticated Padre and his men would never dream of it. The wolf was just trying to intimidate; to throw them off their game. The predacious look in her eyes though, that made the warning feel more like a promise. And the idea of this patch worked demon, glowering at him in the misted half-light of the moon, coming after him while he slept was justifiably potent nightmare fuel. It made the detective swallow around a suddenly dry throat. </p><p>“I said get down! Now!” O’Neil barked, stepping forward menacingly and pulling her finger back minutely on the trigger.</p><p>“Alright, alright!” the other woman placated, still smirking and raising her hands. “No need to get trigger happy. Come one Bluetick. Looks like the FEDs done their job…for once.”</p><p>The fighter began lowering herself to one knee, and her comrade whipped his head to the side to look at her like she’d grown a second head. He followed her lead though, and O’Neil stepped up cautiously, holstering her gun and clicking the handcuffs open.</p><p>“Hands behind your back.” She ordered, and the fighter meekly complied.</p><p>What happened after that occurred so quickly that Banner had to sit down afterward to actively piece it back together.</p><p>As one cuff closed around the wolf’s wrist, she spoke a word in a language that rang against the brick walls of the alley. “<em>Agasgani,</em>” she’d breathed, and then she’d rolled to her right violently. O’Neil’s hand, which had still been clasped around the cuffs, dragged her down under the roll and took her head into the concrete. Before Banner could open his mouth to order her to ‘stop or I’ll shoot!’, the blue tick had moved toward his fallen partner and the detective had squeezed the trigger. Twice.</p><p>It happened before he could even think. Years of training and conditioning flew out the window as images of O’Neil and her family flashed before his eyes, and all he could see was her unmoving form in the dirt with the big body of a predatory animal leaning over her.</p><p>They hadn’t been hots meant to incapacitate. They weren’t bullets aimed for the ground as a warning, or rounds targeted at a shoulder or thigh to stop the suspect from fleeing. No. They were kill shots. Put in the air for one purpose, and one purpose only. To slice through a heart and stop it from beating. Pieces of lead designed to put a body in the ground. The detective had just enough time to be distantly horror-struck at what he’d done, before he realized with a sick shock of relief that it wasn’t hearts blood that was wetting the ground on this night.</p><p>Amara’s roll hadn’t stopped when she’d floored his partner. She’d used the rest of the momentum to rise to her feet and put her shoulder into the sternum of her bigger comrade and push him out of the line of fire. The bullets that would have ended his life found two targets instead. One lodged itself in the meat of his bicep, before continuing on its veracious path and nesting in the southerner’s side, just above her hip bone. The other passed by them by millimeters and imbedded itself in the asphalt like a soldier planting a flag. The pair of fighters fell to the side in a tangle of limbs and grunts, and landed behind the corner of the building bracketing the scene in from Banner’s left.</p><p>He was by O’Neil’s side before he could even register that his legs were moving. For a half-second he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when he saw the blood at her temple and he slid to his knees in a heap. Her eyes fluttered open though, and she groaned when he shouted her name. “O’Neil! Jesus Christ! O’Neil! Are you ok!?”</p><p>“Ugh, fucking hell Banner…” she moaned, and Banner felt like he might weep with relief. His partner rolled to her side and looked over his shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m fine. Go!” she barked and reached for her head weakly. “Are you—?” he started, hesitant to leave her down, but she cut him off. “Yes! Go!” she commanded more strongly, and Banner took off after the suspects he could hear disappearing down the street behind him.</p><p>“<em>Letea</em>!” he heard the wolf order—once again in that strange language—as he closed in on them, and the duo separated. Amara dodged left, shouldering open a door to what appeared to be a textile mill, and the blue tick took off down the main drag.</p><p>Hedging a bet, Banner let the male fighter go and followed the wolf into the mill. Both of them were bleeding, but judging by the trail left on the pavement the wolf was going to be the slower of the two, and she was the one Banner really wanted. This cat and mouse game between them was getting personal, and Shaun was of a mind to end the charade here and now. </p><p>The inside of the mill was foggy. The large bay doors that would allow transfer cruisers to be loaded with merchandise from the production floor were open, and faced out to the misted bay. <strong><em>Obviously somebody doesn’t care too much about anything getting stolen</em></strong>, Banner thought absentmindedly, and made his way slowly on to the production floor. The New Alliance sigil on the walls answered that question for him though, because who in their right mind would be stupid enough to steal from the Alliance? He briefly disparaged the fighter’s luck by choosing this place as refuge. They had to have already set off more than a dozen silent alarms. Banner wouldn’t even need to call for backup; they’d already be on their way. Amara had unknowingly thrown herself into the jaws of the FED, and the detective briefly contemplated the magnitude of the first mistake he’d seen the fighter make. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though.</p><p>Their location didn’t mean Shaun could sit on his laurels though. If he gave her enough time then he was sure the wily dog could find a way to weasel her way out of even this situation, so Banner pulling his torch from his pocket and started to search the floor in a standard pattern. The light slanting in through the doors cast the place into angular shadows. Bulky machinery and stacks of paper littered the floor in organized chaos. On the floor droplets of blood drew him forward like a macabre version of Hansel and Gretel. </p><p>“It’s over Amara!” he shouted into the unnervingly static space. “If you come along peacefully this can all be over.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ on a cracker dude, how cliché can you actually be?”</p><p>The question rang from the back to the mill, and Banner whipped his light in its direction, but saw nothing. The eerie stillness of the place made him feel like he was trying to find a phantom.</p><p><strong><em>Well</em></strong>, he thought grimacing and staring down at the spatterings of blood that were only growing larger. <strong><em>A phantom that bleeds</em></strong>. <strong><em>I am getting over this shit in a big fucking way</em></strong>.</p><p>“Where the fuck are you? Show yourself now!” he ordered, and looked rapidly between printing presses.</p><p>“Wow, finally some cursing from the upright federal officer!” she laughed, and Banner realized with a mental curse that the sound was echoing too much for him to get a read on her. “What, is this getting kind of personal for you Banner?”</p><p>“You hurt my partner back there.” He said darkly.</p><p>“And you tried to kill one of mine.”</p><p>Banner felt his gut clench at that and he bit down on his cheek to keep from growling. Though the irritation was hot in his chest, it felt like ice water had been injected into his veins as he realized just how accurate her statement was. The animosity he felt for the fighter dissolved somewhat in the weight of his own guilt, but he held off from sinking fully into the gravity of it all. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it now, regardless of how close he’d come to killing a man tonight.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” he asked instead, stepping forward and ratcheting down the irritation in his voice, trying to appeal to whatever softer side she might have. “You seem like a pretty intelligent girl. Why resort to this kind of violence?”</p><p>“Violence isn’t something you resort to Banner.” The words rang off the factory walls, sliding along the quiet conveyor belts and rattling off the dead lights handing overhead. “It’s something that lives inside us that you either feed…or starve.”</p><p>“And you’d know all about that right?” he asked, scoffing and losing the battle with his own tempter somewhat. The bloody spots on the floor were growing smaller again. “Southern girl, running around in the big city. What, the south wasn’t brutal enough for you?”</p><p>It was quiet for a moment. “Someone’s observant.” She remarked finally, deadpan. “Though, I’d say you know just as much about southern brutality as I do, sailor.”</p><p>Banner’s heart skipped a beat and he had to make himself swallow before he could choke.</p><p>“How do you know that?” he breathed, and heard her answering chuckle ricochet off the rafters. “You think we don’t do our research Navy boy? Besides, most FEDs your age aren’t as…persistent… as you are. Figure you had to get that stick up your ass from somewhere before you wound up in Trinity.”</p><p>“Yeah…” he trailed off and licked his lips, trying to come up with something. The blood trail had stopped and the fighter was nowhere in sight. He needed to keep her talking. “Yeah, I’m a little new to the whole city thing, I’ll admit. When I got here I couldn’t believe the stuff I heard about the rings. I was going to ask you this at the precinct when we took you in, but just how the hell do you sleep at night? How do you rationalize what you’re doing, Amara? I mean, it can’t be true what they say right?”</p><p>She scoffed. “True as anything else is Banner.”</p><p>“So you’re telling me you signed away your life to save a bunch of animals?” he asked, incredulous.</p><p>“Isn’t that enough?” she responded, her voice reverberating through the building. “What, just cause a dog can’t say ‘stop’ or a bear can’t say ‘fuck you’ they deserve that kind of treatment? You’re more fucked up than I thought, <em>cop</em>.”</p><p>She bit out the title like an insult. Banner stared through the hazy air trying once again to pinpoint her location, to no avail. Neither her voice nor the shifting shadows gave her position away.</p><p>“No, they don’t deserve that kind of treatment,” he responded, forcing his voice back down to level. “but neither do the innocent people stuck in that pit. Neither do you.”</p><p>He moved forward, gun still drawn and flashlight sweeping through the dark. The foggy air bounced back some of the light from the torch, but the detective knew he’d be even more helpless without it. </p><p>“Innocent. You’re a real hoot, Banner!” she laughed from the shadow, and Shaun ground his teeth together.</p><p>He continued to creep through the building, hyper-aware of every shift of air or minuscule sound. “You’re a damn fool, you know that?” he said, trying to keep her talking. Despite the disturbing lack of blood, he knew sooner or later that bullet wound was going to handicap her mobility, and if he could keep her occupied long enough he’d be able to use it to his advantage. “Throwing yourself away to some noble to save a bunch of dogs and roosters? What, are you some kind of bleeding heart Good Samaritan?”</p><p>The words were bitter on his tongue, and he hated the fact that they came so easy to him. The last thing this girl needed at the moment was his ridicule. She obviously thought she was doing the right thing. Either delusional or brainwashed in her dedication, and the detective couldn’t really blame her. He’d seen more than one good man turn killer when he was told that murder was necessary; himself included. But at the moment she was dangerous, and Banner needed her thoughts clouded so he could arrest her and get her the help she needed. <strong><em>Ironic</em></strong>, he thought bitterly. He was gratified, though, when you could almost taste the malice in the air as the words landed and struck the blow that they’d intended. </p><p>“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, pig.” She spoke slowly, measuredly in a way that was almost more intimidating than if she’d have been yelling. “You’ve got shit for brains if you think we signed up on a whim.”</p><p>Suddenly footsteps pattered across the concrete, but the noise rebounded so much that Shaun couldn’t have found them even if it had been full daylight. “Sounds to me like you all were the ones with shit for brains.” He accused, sweeping his torch behind a stack of unbound textbooks. “Getting yourselves mixed up in a useless grudge match that’s lead to more deaths then if you’d have left the cockfighting well enough al—”</p><p>“What makes you think they would have stopped at dogs and roosters Banner!?!” she cut him off.</p><p>The whip-crack in her voice, for once, wasn’t controlled or condescending, and the detective mentally reneged his prior assessment that her quiet rage had been the most frightening. She was really pissed off now, and Banner felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. “What makes you think that there was <em>anything</em> stopping the homeless from winding up in that pit next? Or the poor? Sick? Convicts!? What was there to stop that kind of escalation you ignorant <em>fuck</em>!?”</p><p>A bang sounded from his left and he swung his light in its direction, only to have another sound of scraping metal on concrete echo from behind him. The detective whipped back and forth to no avail. She was toying with him. Despite her genuine anger she was toying with him, and it pissed the detective off in return.</p><p>“The FED was there to prevent that!” he bit back, voice raising in frustration.</p><p>“Kids Banner!” came her barked back retort. The echo of her voice ringing in the air. “They had kids! We had to—” she cut herself off abruptly. The detective’s brow drew down and he felt uncertainty slip down his spine like a cold, dead finger. The ice water returned to his veins. Banner ground his teeth together and swept his eyes across the floor once more. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘They had kids’? Amara!?” he barked, and felt a cold sweat break out on his neck. There was no reply, and Banner felt his heart sink when the next turn he made revealed the largest pool of blood yet. “Amara!?” he asked, real concern sinking into his tone.</p><p>“I think you’ve heard enough, don’t—” a wet cough cut her off.</p><p>Banner had to find her fast, before she bled out…and he became a murderer. </p><p>“Bloodlust doesn’t dissipate.” She continued after a pause, voice sounding slightly strained now. “Anger and hate don’t just go away. Its energy Banner, you can’t destroy it. It builds, and it builds, until there’s nothing left but blood and death.”</p><p>She was closer now, but still indiscernible. The quiet timber of her voice skated across his skin like a living thing.</p><p>“So, we gave them another way. We gave them what they wanted all along. Human blood on the floor. No more, we told them. No more dogs, no more cocks, no more bears of bulls, and we’ll give you what you want. It ended with us. As long as we were there to sate that lust, to give that energy a pressure valve, there would be no more. And it would be our <em>choice</em>.”</p><p>“But that’s not what you’re doing anymore Amara!” Banner was yelling now, but he was too angry to care. There was a smaller part of him that was also scared shitless that when he finally found this girl she’d be dead. <strong><em>And where the fuck was his backup</em></strong>!? “Don’t you see that!?! It’s not going to stop with you. It’s already gone way past anything you all agreed to! There are trained assassins in that ring now. Drug addicts, soldiers! I remember what I saw undercover Amara, and those aren’t your people anymore! They’re god damned psychopaths!”</p><p>Shaun rounded a corner and was so shocked to see her there that he almost jumped out of his skin. She had a hand pressed to her side, a wad of papers jammed in the wound to stem the flow of blood, and the other grasped around a curved metal scythe used to cut the huge reels of paper that were stacked behind her. She was leaned against the side of a printing roller, her face pale and sweaty under the scars. One shiny cuff dangled from her wrist and her mouth was drawn down at the corners. They just stared at one another for a moment.</p><p>Finally, she spoke. “Of course.” She responded coolly. There was no emotion in the statement, no hint of denial or chagrin. It drew the detective up short. </p><p>“What?” he all but whispered, and lowered his weapon the slightest bit.</p><p>“I said, ‘Of course’ Banner. They’re psychopaths and old war dogs hooked on ‘roids and trained killers. All of them owned by sociopaths that couldn’t give a shit if every last fighter died bloody in the pits before breakfast.”</p><p>Banner licked his lips and stuttered quietly, “I don’t…I don’t understand.”</p><p>“I’m not blind Banner.” She rasped, and Shaun saw a line of blood trickle down from the corner of her mouth. “I know exactly what’s happening in the rings. We knew this was going to happen the minute we signed up. We didn’t start out with owners, but I’m from the fucking south detective. You think we didn’t know just how sideways things could go if and when some pompous ass wipes got involved?” her lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl. The blood between her teeth made the expression look even more sinister.“We were making <em>money</em> Banner. Not for ourselves, but fuck if that didn’t draw the high breed’s in like flies to horse shit. We <em>knew</em> this was going to happen.”</p><p>“Then why!?” the detective sputtered, torn between getting answers and attempting to take her in right then. “Why would you—”</p><p>“Because of this!” A bloody hand raised and pointed at her collar. Her eyes were alight with unholy fire. It almost looked like insanity.</p><p>“Because we had these. What, you thought this was a fashion statement? We’re <em>underground</em> fighters, you moron! Why in the fuck would we all wear something that screams, ‘Look at me! I’m a dog!’?”</p><p>Banner stepped forward and she brandished the scythe to fend him off. Unsteady as she was the detective knew she could still take a hunk out of him, and he stopped his advance.</p><p>“Then why do you have them?” he asked, voice shaky with adrenaline, thinking that maybe, if he could keep her talking long enough, his goddamn backup would show up before they got into another physical confrontation. Because Shaun wasn’t exactly sure who would win.</p><p>The fighter smirked. “It’s insurance.” She continued, leaning more heavily on the machinery at her back. “The collars are biometrically locked and coded to our bodies. The collar won’t attach unless your 100% willing when you say the pledge. Even the slightest doubt, the smallest hesitation in your brain waves, and that collar won’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. They short out and give one hell of a zap if you even <em>try</em> to force it on somebody. We’re not slaves Detective. Every single one of us chose this.”</p><p>Her voice was steady, without the slightest hint of a lie.</p><p>Banner felt his mouth go dry, and he stared at the simple black leather around her neck with new-found horror. It was old technology, and had been outlawed in most civilized countries even before the New Alliance had taken power. One of the many things that science had created during a time of war that was too ghastly to even imagine, the biomechanical technology that had been used on prisoners in Columbia had been deemed too cruel by the global community at large, and had been blacklisted ever since. And yet here it was around this poor girl’s neck.</p><p>“Look…” he stuttered, licking his lips. “We can help you. We can get that thing off you and you can work for us. You can help us take all this mess down and no one will ever try to fight an animal or person against their will again. I know the nobles are powerful but—”</p><p>“Oh, save you platitudes for somebody who cares Banner.” She cut him off, and slid down the side of the printer slightly. “No one without a collar can be a dog, dumb ass. Once it’s locked it never comes off. There is <em>no way</em> to remove it, unless you’re dead. Death frees us all Banner, and <em>that</em> is the only way to end your service as a dog.”</p><p>“Ok, fine.” He said, reaching for anything to make her listen. “Even if we can’t get it off, you can still get out of this Amara. No one would even need to know. You’re an original, and no one is going to hold you to a promise you swore years ago.”</p><p>She chuckled darkly, and eyed him like a disappointed school teacher. “The collar is rigged with enough electrical voltage to drop a rhinoceros and there’s a backup mechanism that can sever your carotid in 0.01 seconds. If you break your vow, the collar knows. And you die before you can get back in the ring. If I go with you now, willingly, or give up the secrets of my owner I’d be a sack of meat on the floor before you could even pull your handcuffs.”</p><p>Banner shook his head in stunned disbelief and felt bile rise to the back of his throat. “So you… You rigged a whole set of people to die by a standard you set?” he accused. “That’s crazy!”</p><p>The fighter didn’t even flinch, just eyed him with an unimpressed expression, as if his disapproval was that of a tantruming child.</p><p>“Every single dog that signs up knows exactly what they’re getting themselves into. We don’t sell false promises in the pit…At least not to each other.” She paused, blood loss or wistfulness causing her to stare over his shoulder with a half glazed look.</p><p>“You’ll never understand, cop.” She said, finally, and lifted her hand from her bloody side to grip her collar. “We are the elite. We are the servants of peace you could never be. We are the willing few who will throw our lives into that pit, and never get them back again. We are the dogs Banner, and ultimately? We hold our own leashes.”</p><p><strong><em>That’s enough</em></strong>, Shaun thought, watching her sag and drop her makeshift weapon as she finished her tirade. The crazy bitch was barely on her feet and Banner had heard enough. Backup or no backup he was taking this girl in right here and now.</p><p>He went to take a step forward, but before he could even get his foot in the air a freight train hit him over the back of the head. He knew he was down for the count before he even finished face planting into the concrete floor of the factory. As his vision faded and sound tunneled around him, the last thing he heard was the raspy voice of the wolf say, “What the hell took you so long?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter Fifteen: Old friends and new</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I imagine the conversation went something like this: <br/>Clay: “You know, I always meant to ask you. Why do you all call Ray ‘Phaser’ when you don’t want people to know who you’re talking about?”<br/>Amara: “Her full name is Reagan. As in Ray- gun. Like a phaser from one of those old sci-fi movies?”<br/>Clay: “…..You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kane parked the car and had his door open before the vehicle had even completely touched down. Behind him Demarko, Smith, and Mathur all but slammed their own doors and were hot on his heels as he made his way to the front of the tattoo parlor and head shop. Its darkened neon sign and shaded windows belayed the frenzy he knew was probably happening inside, and cast an uneasy air out onto the street. A place that should have been alive and filled with color was silent and muted in a way that threw your mind into the familiar disquiet of something <em>just not quite being right</em>. Around them the nightlife of Downtown was winding down in the wee hours of the morning, when even the most adventurous citizens found their beds. </p><p>The assistant marched up to the building and banged on the door, making the glass rattle in its frame and drawing a reproving look from Mathur. He didn’t care though, because a few seconds later the shades cracked the slightest bit, revealing one round and heavily lined blue eye. The door swung open with a ‘cling’ from the bell that lay above it, and a small blonde woman barred their path when Kane and his compatriots would have rushed through it.</p><p>She was no more than five feet tall and was built like a fairytale spriggan. Her hair was platinum blonde with chunks of electric blue in it and cut just below her chin. The cutoff jeans, fishnets and combat boots that she wore gave her an edge that was accented by the bull ring through her nose, and the spark in her eyes was unsettlingly familiar to the assistant, who had only ever seen it before in the brown eyes of their once more missing fighter.</p><p>“Hold your horses there slick. Who are you?” the puckish woman barked, and the assistant was vaguely surprised at the depth in her voice.</p><p>Kane stiffened and glanced up and down the street. A few drunks were wandering around the sidewalks and a bar down the street was still somewhat busy. He supposed it could have been anyone trying to barge their way into a closed tattoo parlor, but the delay was still aggravating. He bit his tongue though, and decided to play along for posterity’s sake. “We’re here to see someone about a dog?” he half bit out with an arched brow, and the annoying little pixie in front of him frowned. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you call her. Get the hell in here then.” She tossed back saucily, and stepped to the side to wave them in.</p><p>“Where is she?” he asked, aggressive but unremorseful about it as soon as they were all inside. The girl eyed him, unimpressed, and crossed her arms across her black t-shirt, which proudly proclaimed ‘Cloud 9 Tattoos and Piercings’ above a neon green skull. “And why should I tell you, fuck nugget?”</p><p>Kane drew up short and behind him, Mathur snorted. Demarko rolled his eyes and shook his head. Under his breath, but still audible he said, “Great, now I see why she came here.”</p><p>Mathur stepped forward and pushed Demarko behind him, drawing the woman’s attention and laying on the charm. “Ma’ma? Please don’t mind our uptight comrade or the idiot with the singed eyebrows. We’ve all had a little bit of a night. Would you please mind pointing us in the direction of the lovely Amara?”</p><p>The girl eyed him for a moment, then smirked and uncrossed her arms to point up at the attractive guard. “Now, see you? I like.”</p><p>“Leave them alone Ray.” A voice called dully from the back of the building. “I almost set Demarko on fire earlier and the city boy sounds like he’s about to have an aneurysm up there.”</p><p>Kane heard the voice and barged to the back of the shop, toward its origin, before he could even register the blonde’s affronted squawk. Passing through a beaded curtain, he found himself in the tattoo parlor portion of the shop proper. Behind the welcome counter a bald and inked up dog that Kane had seen at the fights before leaned against a partition. His right arm was wrapped in a bandage covered with black tape, and he glanced up and stiffened when Kane entered. The assistant paid him little mind though, and made a beeline for the partition. That was, until the man stepped into his path, blocking the door to the small room.</p><p>“Move.” Kane ordered, and the dog glared down at him scathingly.</p><p>“Let him through Bluetick.” The voice spoke again, and Kane felt his jaw muscle tick.</p><p>Her voice was strained and raspy, as if she’d been yelling all night, and the assistant suspected that she might have been. The colorful Neanderthal blew out a breath through his nose, but stepped aside so Kane could take in the damage.</p><p>Amara was laid out on a reclined tattoo chair with one arm flung up by her head. The back of her left hand rested on her forehead and her eyes were closed. The black long-sleeve she’d left the penthouse in earlier that evening was cut open up to her sternum, blood darkening the fabric, and her other hand was grasped in a claw in the faux leather fabric of the chair. The lines by her mouth were drawn, and she looked even paler than normal under the purple of her scars. By her side a man with more metal in his face than should have been legal was digging into the exposed flesh of her side with a pair of forceps and the blunt end of a piercing needle. The man was intent on his work, biting a lip that had two rings at either corner of his mouth. <strong><em>Snake bites</em></strong>, the back of Kane’s mind supplied helpfully, recalling when his sister had considered getting them and his mother had almost skinned her alive. Brows that had three studs in them each were drawn down in a ‘v’, and sweat darkened the bald head that was tattooed with a spider web and a black widow crawling out from behind his ear.</p><p>At Amara’s head another dog grasped her shoulders, presumably to hold her down if the pain got to be too much. The fighter glanced up when Kane entered the room, and dark brown, near black eyes assessed him. The maroon and read of his collar bounced off the mocha of his skin and thick black hair that was combed back from his face. He eyed the assistant for a moment, before Amara twitched and her shoulders slightly arched off the chair, and his attention was drawn downward. She grunted, but stilled after a second and opened her eyes. “Hey city boy. Glad you could make it.” She said, meeting the assistant's gaze and smirking. The wane look didn’t leave her eyes though.</p><p>“Wasn’t that hard to figure out.” He responded, and stepped into the room to stand on her opposite side. “Looks like you had fun with the FED tonight.”</p><p>The fighter barked out a laugh, but was cut off when a wave of pain washed across her face. Her back arched and the fighter at her shoulders had to press down hard to keep her from squirming away. The hand that had been at her forehead latched on to the man’s wrist and squeezed down, white-knuckled. “Spike, man, can you hurry it up!?” she asked, wincing and squeezing her eyes closed.</p><p>“I’m working as fast as I can here Amara. Give me a second.” The man responded, hurriedly, and Kane felt his hands clench into fists. It wasn’t often that Amara responded to pain, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her like this. It was unsettling to think how much the digging and poking had to hurt to draw that kind of reaction from the usually stoic fighter.</p><p>“I’ve got some Vicodin in my purse. You want one sis?” The girl from before asked, pocking her head into the room.</p><p>Amara grunted, but shook her head. “You know that shit doesn’t work on me Ray. I appreciate it though.”</p><p>The girl nodded and stepped into the room, shouldering past Kane to get to Amara’s side and start rubbing the arm that was still clenched into the chair fabric. “Just breathe girl. I’ve got a fifth of vodka and a can of orange juice with your name on it in the back fridge.” She said, and Amara’s lips twitched up in a small smile. Kane noticed for the first time that she had a cut on her cheek. As she turned her head to look at the woman her smile cracked it open. Is oozed a thin stream of blood in a lazy trickle.“As long as the vodka’s not cotton candy flavored.” The fighter responded, and the tiny woman put her hands on her hips in mock affront.</p><p>“Hey, that shit is good with the right mixer, and I never heard you complaining before!”</p><p>Amara scoffed. “That’s cause we were both young and stupid. We either drank booze that could burn a hole through a table, or shit so sweet you couldn’t tell it was alcoholic.”</p><p>Kane did a mental double-take and felt the gears of his mind grind together as he tried to picture Amara drunk. The woman laughed and put her hand on Amara’s brow. “That we did. But I will have you know I’ve moved past that. I’m a fucking boring and stuffy adult now.”</p><p>“Oh sure. And I’m now the poster child for self-preservation and maturity.”   </p><p>The woman ‘pfte’ed out a breath, but feel silent as Amara ground her teeth together again, and slammed her head back against the headrest. She grunted a curse and kicked her foot down on the chair, and the Dog at her shoulders pressed down again. The blonde ran her fingers through the injured fighter’s hair and it seemed to calm her the slightest bit; at least enough to keep her from jerking out of their hold. The casual touch was accepted without a glare, and given with a familiarity that spoke of a deep bond won over time. <strong><em>Just who the hell is this girl?</em></strong> Kane though, but pushed it to the back of his mind for later when Amara grimaced once again. The wince was quickly followed, though, by a triumphant cry from the metal head at her side. “Got it! I’ve got it!” Spike said, and held up a deformed bullet to the light with the forceps.</p><p>“Standard 9mm with a lead core. The jacket’s intact and it’s not a tracer round. It would have been a through and through if you’re boy’s bicep hadn’t gotten in the way. You’re good, girl.” He said, and dropped the lump of metal to the tray at his right hand.</p><p>“Thank fuck.” Amara breathed, and sagged back into the chair.</p><p>“They shot you?!” came Demarko’s surprised squawk from the partition, and Kane glanced over to see him leaning in through the door around the tattooed dog, who was glaring at the guard with a mixture of scorn and annoyance. Behind them he could perceive Smith and Mathur craning their head over their shoulders to try and get a look inside.</p><p>“Yes.” Amara said, unclenching her hands and raising her head enough to glare at the man in the doorway. “So you can save whatever speech you cooked up and stop being pissed about what happened at the church. Bullet beats out burning, Demarko. We’re even.”</p><p>Demarko’s eyes narrowed and Kane had to wonder exactly what had gone down in that tunnel. Spike pressed a gauze pad to the bullet wound and Amara’s eye twitch in response seemed to shake the man out of his glare enough to respond.</p><p>“I’m still pissed at you.” he growled, and crossed his arms across his chest with a huff.</p><p>“Yeah, I figured.” Amara sighed and laid her head back on the headrest.</p><p>Kane cleared his throat and felt his eye twitch when the room at large glanced at him in surprise, as if they’d forgotten he was here. “Well, now that you’re not getting a slug dug out of you, just who the fuck are these people!?” Kane demanded, gesturing at the two strangers in the room and causing the blonde woman to glare at him with vehemence. She opened her mouth to let loose what Kane could only imagine would have been a colorful stream of insults, when Amara laid a hand on the pixie’s forearm to forestall the verbal lashing.</p><p>The fighter shook her head minutely and the girl held her peace with a pout. Raising her head, Amara motioned for the other men to enter the room. It was a tight fit, but at least now everyone could hear.</p><p>“Kane, boys…meet Ray.” She started, and gestured to the small woman at her side. “She’s an old friend. So is Spike. They know what we are.” She paused, and Yaruka’s men looked at each other skeptically. “Spike, Ray… meet Kane. He’s the pretty one with the constipated look on his face. Demarko is the alpha male missing half an eyebrow. Tall, dark, and handsome over there is Mathur, and Smith’s the brick wall with the personality of a can of white paint.”</p><p>Her introduction drew glares from the men and a laugh from Ray and Spike. “You all already know these two fine gentlemen.” She continued, gesturing at the two other fighters, who both nodded in acknowledgment.</p><p>Kane noticed that she was consciously not saying the two dogs’ names. Identifies were tricky in the fighting world, and generally handlers didn’t know the names of other dogs that they weren’t responsible for unless by the fighter’s choice. Some were pretty laisse fair with their identities, but others went only by their ring names. True names were given on a need to know basis, and those who needed to know were usually other dogs or Carlos’ men.</p><p>The fighter at Amara’s head finally leaned back from the tattoo chair and rolled his eyes at the southerner. Kane was mentally running through every ring name he knew and was coming up empty when he spoke. “You’re more paranoid than you need to be, Wolf. The name’s Hector.” He said, nulling the assistant’s worry and drawing an arched brow from the other dog.</p><p>That tattooed fighter at the door shifted and winced when the movement pulled at his obviously injured arm. “I’m Garret.” He said, and Amara sighed a breath out through her nose. “Hey, I’m just trying to watch all my bases. Pardon me for trying to cover your asses.”</p><p>Hector chuckled without amusement and shook out the wrist that Amara had latched on to and rotated it with a faint ‘pop’. “Hell of a lot of good it did us.” He said and Kane, not liking the way that sounded <em>at all</em>, felt foreboding sink into his gut. </p><p>Amara winced at the crack of the man’s wrist and looked up at the tanned fighter, chagrined. “Sorry Hector.” She said, and the dog shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s the least I could do. I know you’re the one that convinced Carlos and his men to come bust me out of holding. I’ve been meaning to say thank you for a while.” He assured, and smiled down at the southerner.</p><p>“So <em>you’re</em> the Hector that got nabbed at the bust.” Ray said, snapping her fingers and pointing at the fighter. “No wonder you don’t give a fuck. Half the city knows your name.”</p><p>He nodded and grinned, revealing a crooked smile. “Yeah, but your girl here got me out. And ain’t nobody gonna come looking for a nobody Latino in Trinity.”</p><p>Ray nodded and smiled fondly and exasperatedly down at the other woman saying, “Of course she got you out. She’s amazing.” and Amara rolled her eyes in response. She thanked Spike as he finished taping down the gauze, and fist-bumped the man as he stood from the rolling stool he’d been sitting on and stretched. Again, the familiarity puzzled the assistant. He needed some context and he needed it right fucking now.</p><p>“Well, now that we’re all the best of friends…What. The. Fuck. Happened?” Kane bit out, and all eyes landed on Amara.</p><p>She sighed and threw Kane a dirty look, but started her narration anyway. “Banner and his partner showed up at the church.” The fighter stately bluntly, and sat up with the aid of Ray’s arm behind her shoulders. “We found out before the strike team was sent in and evacuated the building. The church is gone. I light it up before I left.”</p><p>“No. What you did was nearly burn yourself alive with me and that Martin guy right along with you.” Demarko cut in hotly, shooting the southerner a resentful look.</p><p>“You wanted them to get more evidence?” She asked caustically, and glared up at the Italian man.</p><p>“Amara’s the one who sounded the alarm.” Garret continued before the dog and the guard could get into it. “We’d all ‘a been hosed if it wadden’t for her.”</p><p>“<em>Of course</em> she did.” Ray said, casting her eyes heavenward for guidance. “And of course you took it upon yourself to save everybody by throwing yourself in front of a bullet.”</p><p>“It’s not like I plan this shit Ray.” Amara complained, defending herself. The other woman shook her head and gave her an incensed yet loving look.</p><p>“So how did you wind up with a live round in you?” Mathur asked, arching a brow and leaning back against the wall. “Aren’t FED weapons strictly rubber ammunition these days?”</p><p>“I guess Banner decided he’d better double down.” Hector growled, and Amara rolled her eyes at his tone.</p><p>“Hey, you got there in time man. It’s no big deal. I’m just glad you didn’t kill him back at the mill.” She said. “Assaulting a FED is bad enough. Smacking him over the head with a baseball bat could have put us in a whole different world of shit.”</p><p>“He tried to kill you guys.” He said, cold simplicity and anger in his tone. “I should have taken his fucking head off.”</p><p>“He tried to kill <em>me</em>.” Garret clarified, and rubbed a hand over his bare skull. “Only reason I’m standin’ here right now is that Amara ain’t got the common sense God gave a box of rocks.”</p><p>“Screw you Garret!” Amara bit back, casting the other dog a hard look. “I wasn’t gonna let you die just because you blew my name at the church. Besides, they know yours now too. I made you in the alley, remember?” she argued, and swung her legs off the side of the chair.</p><p>Kane’s brows rose and he raised a hand in a stopping motion. “Wait a fucking second! The FED know your <em>names</em>?” he asked, and cursed when Amara nodded mutely. The assistant felt his stomach knot up and rubbed a hand across his upper lip. “Well shit. That’s not good.” He said after a pause, and Amara sent him a look that clearly said, ‘<em>No shit Sherlock</em>!’ </p><p>“Ok…” Kane sighed. “Exactly <em>how</em> did this Banner guy wind up pumping you full of lead and finding out your name?”</p><p>“They followed me out of the church before it went up and tailed me till I met up with Amara.” Garret answered, and stepped to the side to allow Ray to exit the room. “They caught us at the en’ of a alley an’ we had to drop… what was ‘er name?” he asked, and Ray re-entered the room carrying a red plastic cup.</p><p>“O’Neil.” Amara supplied, and accepted the drink Ray handed her. Kane could smell the vodka from where he was standing, and briefly wondered if he’d somehow entered an alternate dimension.</p><p>“Yeah.” Garret nodded in recognition. “Amara knocked her over and the guy just fired.”</p><p>“I saw the whole thing,” Hector said, crossing his arms and leaning back against a shelf that held a plethora of colored ink. “I was on my way here when I heard the commotion. That motherfucker almost killed you G. Probably wouldn’t have even lost sleep tonight.”</p><p>Garret grunted and Kane saw the line of his jaw tick. Hector continued, addressing Amara. “I followed Garret here, but when you didn’t show up I borrowed Ray’s bat came out after you.”</p><p>“Figured you would. I just had to stall Banner long enough for you to get there.” She said, draining another healthy mouthful of the drink. “I’m just glad you didn’t send Ray out for me. She definitely <em>would</em> have killed Banner.”</p><p>“Damn straight.” The woman responded, and turned to sit on the reclined chair next to her friend.</p><p>“So what you’re telling me,” Kane began slowly, and the man felt a vein in his forehead begin to throb. “is that you sniffed out two FEDs that had infiltrated a ring location. <em>Burned down</em> said ring location while somehow managing to get everybody <em>but yourself </em>out relatively unscathed, and ditching your detail while you were at it, might I add! Got chased through two towns with you buddy over there,” he gestured sharply to the tattooed dog, who narrowed his eyes at him. “by the <em>same two</em> FED officers, who you then <em>assaulted</em>, and got yourself shot in the process?”</p><p>“Well, when you put it like that…. Did I mention that we knocked out Banner in a New Alliance paper mill?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ Amara!”</p><p>“What the hell did you want me to do Kane?” she asked, irritation and real anger leaching into her voice. “Let everybody at the pit get arrested? Leave Garret to die in some back alley? Lead the FED <em>here </em>for Christ’s sake?!” she waved her arm, gesturing to the room at large and the variety of ‘most wanted’s that occupied it. “Should I have been a good dog and sat and stayed on queue!?”</p><p>The room fell quiet at the ring of her voice. Most were staring awkwardly down at the floor or walls. Looking anywhere but at Amara and Kane, who could have caught the building on fire with the sparks that were flying out of their eyes at each other. Kane looked like he could have been sucking on a lemon, his mouth was so pinched closed. He had about thirteen different emotions simmering under his chest, and all of them pointed towards pissed off. He was angry that she’d put herself in danger, and annoyed at himself for being angry about it. Irritated that she made a good point, and confused as to why he cared in the first place. “You should have waited for Demarko! You’ve got a guard for a reason Amara!” he finally responded, capping his emotions and barking back with just as much heat as the fighter. </p><p>“It doesn’t really matter now anyway.” Mathur said, cutting in before the fighter could respond. The comment cut the tension between them like a razor on a rubber band, and drew the gaze of everyone else in the room. The dog and the assistant glared at each other for a moment more, but eventually turned their eyes toward the older man, waiting for him to elaborate. </p><p>“You did what you had to do and it sounds like you kept a lot of people out of the shit while you did it.” He said, meeting Amara’s regard with an earnest gaze. Her eyes stayed narrowed, but her brow rose in surprise at the praise. “At this point all you can do is pat yourself on the back and wait for Carlos to call.”</p><p>The room was quiet for a moment. Kane, seeing the wisdom in that assessment, swore he could feel steam coming off his head as his temper suddenly cooled. He still thought the fighter deserved a good tough lashing for ditching her security for the second time in as many months, but he’d hold off until they’d all had a chance to chill out. Emotions were running high right now, and the assistant needed to take a serious step back in regards to how much he was letting this whole thing affect him.</p><p>“Again,” Ray said crisply, breaking the awkward silence. “You, I like.”</p><p>She batted her eyelashes at Mathur, who swallowed convulsively and stood up straighter in minor discomfort. </p><p>“He’s married, Ray.” Amara said, deadpan and shooting her friend a reproachful look. </p><p>“What? I’m not touching!” She retorted innocently, holding up her hands in surrender. “Just admiring.” She sent a wolfish smile over her shoulder toward the guard though, and Mathur chuckled nervously in response.</p><p>Kane snorted out a breath through his nose and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. If the little blonde only knew the kind of shit she’d be getting into if she even thought about going up against Mathur’s wife. Hell, he’d pay money just to see her try.</p><p>His thought was cut off though, when he heard a flat, “Ow” come from Amara. Kane whipped his head around to see her staring down at her hands in minor annoyance. Looking closer, he noticed for the first time that the blood on her palms wasn’t just leftover from her bullet wound, and that there were actually small bits of colored glass embedded in the flesh. As he watched, the fighter picked one of the larger pieces out and flicked it across the room.</p><p>“Hey!” Spike barked, lunging forward to catch the glass out of the air. “Can we avoid contaminating my tattoo parlor more than it already is!? Come ‘er you heathen!”</p><p>Amara rolled her eyes, but shifted over so the artist could take a look. “How in the hell did you get colored glass in your hands?” he asked, pulling out a magnifying glass and rinsing off his tweezers in what smelled like alcohol.</p><p>“Stained glass window.” She responded simply, and Ray shook her head and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Kane was tempted to mirror the action, knowing that there was a story there that none of them were likely to get. The blonde stood from the chair and brandished the fighter’s empty cup.</p><p>“You want another?” she asked, and Amara paused before nodding. “Please.”</p><p>Mathur shifted to get out of the small woman’s way as she elbowed through him and Garret. She flashed him a saucy smile as she did so, and disappeared around the corner. When she was gone the man let out a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and loosened the ridiculous blue and green tie around his neck, which somehow still looked good on him. “Alright.” He said, addressing Yaruka’s men as their superior for the first time all night. Mathur wasn’t usually one to play up his position, but for all intents and purposes he and Lloyd were second in command only to Hill. “Demarko, Smith? You all mind checking the perimeter? The last thing we need tonight is another surprise. I’ll get on the phone with Hill. See where we’re at and what the boss wants done. Kane…” he addressed the assistant and then paused, before pointing at Amara. “Sit on her.”</p><p>The woman scoffed and shot up a finger on the hand that Spike wasn’t currently excavating. “Screw you Mathur.” She muttered in annoyance, but the man’s back was already disappearing around the corner of the partition followed closely by Demarko and Smith.</p><p>Garret shifted slightly to avoid their exit and then winced when the move pulled on his injured arm. “I think Imma go see if Ray’s got any more of that Vicodin.” He said tiredly, and pushed himself from the partition with his shoulder. He paused as he turned, and looked at the female fighter seriously. “Amara,” he started, somewhat choked up. “I just wanna—”</p><p>“Don’t even think about it G.” she cut him off, meeting his stern expression with one of her own. “You’d have done the same for me.”</p><p>He nodded slowly and headed toward the back of the shop in the same direction that Ray had gone. The southern’s eyes tracked him the whole way, and a worried pinched formed between her brows. “Go with him Hector.” Amara ordered, casting a concerned look after the big man. “He thinks he screwed me over tonight, but it’s not his fault. Make sure he knows that.”</p><p>Hector nodded and pushed himself up from his lean. On his way out of the room he stopped to squeeze Amara’s shoulder, who gave him a small but grateful smile in return. The way their eyes locked made Kane feel awkward for witnessing it, as if he was spying on a stranger’s private conversation.   </p><p>It was quiet after that. The only sound being the soft ‘tink’ of the small bits of glass as they were dropped on to the metal tray and the buzz of the overhead florescent lights.“I never thought I’d see the day you drank.” Kane started, trying to break the stagnant air. The fighter sent him a heated look over her shoulder before sighing and turning back toward the man picking glass out of her hands. “Well, it might come as a surprise to you, but getting a bullet dug out of you without anesthetic hurts like a bitch. Sue me if I’d like to numb the pain a little.”</p><p>Spike glanced up at her at that, concern in the lines of his face, but went back to extricating the last pieces of glass when she shook her head minutely. “You didn’t have to turn down the Vicodin.” He pointed out, and Amara shrugged noncommittally. “I want to be numb, not comatose. You know hardcore pain killers knock me for a loop, and I’d rather not pass out before I know I’m actually done for the night.”</p><p>Spike nodded and dropped the tweezers to the tray. Retrieving a gauze pad from the small table behind him, the tattoo artist doused the cloth in hydrogen peroxide before whipping it across the cut. They sizzled at the contact, and must have stung, but Amara didn’t even seem to notice it.</p><p>Kane sighed and stepped closer to the fighter, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Amara… Look, you <em>are</em> done for the night.” He said, tilting his head to try and catch her eye. “We’re here now and I’m sure there are others on their way to get your friends.”</p><p>She glanced up at him for a moment and let out a breath that made her shoulders sag. Turning back to the pieced man she knocked her knee against his. “You mind giving us a minute Spike?” she asked, and the man pushed his tongue against one of his lip piercings in contemplation. He was momentarily reticent, but eventually nodded and stood from his stool. “No problem. Just remember to keep that bullet hole clean and get it stitched up within the next twelve hours. The bleedings mostly stopped and it didn’t hit anything important, but you’ve still got a hole in ya sis.”</p><p>Amara nodded and flashed the man a half-smile. “Will do man. And Spike?” she grasped his arm before he could leave the room. “Thanks.”</p><p>Spike smiled and patted her hand. Kane had to resist the urge to snort as he caught the words tattooed on his knuckles. <em>Lone Wolf</em>.</p><p>“Anytime sis.” He said kindly, and then he left them alone.</p><p>Amara and Kane watched him leave and waited for a moment for him to get out of earshot. “Be careful what you say around Spike and Ray.” Amara finally said, turning to address the assistant. “They know what we are, but they don’t know who our owners are. That’s dangerous information for them to have, and I don’t want to get them anymore involved than they already are.” She went to lean back and winced a little. “Don’t bring them into this Kane. I shouldn’t have even come here tonight.”</p><p>Kane frowned and moved over to lean against the small table that held Spike’s impromptu medical supplies. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.” He said, trying for reassurance and wishing he was better at this. “Where else were you supposed to go?”</p><p>She shrugged. “Don’t know. When I told you about meeting the other dogs here I thought…” she paused and shook her head. “I didn’t think I’d ever be coming back here again. If I’d had a choice I wouldn’t have. Ray and Spike don’t need me coming back into their lives and complicating them.”</p><p>Kane chewed on his lower lip and regarded the fighter intently. Her careworn face was giving him flashbacks to the garage, where she’d had that same expression only a few weeks ago. He reached for something to say that would make that expression go away, but as usual, he came up dry. He couldn’t bring himself to wish that she’d gone anywhere else either, despite her sensible reservations. Here she at least had allies; people that cared whether she bled out in a ditch somewhere and was never heard from again. Here he’d at least known where to find her.</p><p>“So who are their owners anyway?” he asked when he came up with nothing, nodding his head toward the rest of the shop, indicating the other fighters. “Do we need to get the hell out of here before their retrieval units show up?”</p><p>Amara shook her head. “Garret’s already been in contact with O’Riley’s men. He’ll meet them a few blocks north in a couple of hours once the heat is off. Hector’s Noble washed her hands of him when he was arrested, so he’s staying with one of Carlos’s men until another one gets interested. He’ll make his way there in a few hours and—” the fighter quickly cut herself off and looked over to the door. Not two seconds later Ray appeared and all but skipped into the room. She handed Amara a replenished drink, who accepted it gratefully and drained half of it in one go.</p><p>She moved to scoot back on the chair, but stopped with a grimace when the wet flap of her cut shirt brushed against the outside of the bandage on her side. Ray hopped up and un-reclined the chair so the injured woman would have something to lean against. “Let me get you another shirt.” She offered when Amara was finally comfortable. “You want something music-related or funny?”</p><p>“Please don’t steal from your own merchandise for me.” Amara begged, but the blonde just shot her a wink and disappeared toward the front of the shop.</p><p>Amara sighed in her wake, but there was a fondness to it that belayed any form of real irritation. She took a swig of her drink and glanced up at Kane with a wry smirk. “Hey, you’re not gonna rat me out to the boss for drinking on the job are you?” she asked, and Kane met her eyes with confusion.</p><p>He’d heard the true question underneath it, and the darkness behind her eyes betrayed the cavalier way she’d said it.  “<strong><em>Are you going to tell him about them?</em></strong>” Was what she was really asking, and Kane had to think on that for a moment. The side of him that was becoming dangerously attached to the fighter wanted to assure her that her secret was safe with him. It wanted to reach out and grasp her shoulder like Hector had and promise her that he had her back on this one. But the rest of him hesitated. He’d worked for years to gain Yaruka’s trust, and if the man found out he had kept this from him it would destroy that trust irrevocably. Kane didn’t want to drag whatever allies Amara had into the noble’s sightline, but he also didn’t want to lose everything that he’d worked for by lying to him.   </p><p>Kane snorted and shook his head, pulling on every ounce of control he had to make sure his face stayed even. “Nah, it’s cool.” He said, but in his eyes he could tell that she read, “<strong><em>Only if he asks</em></strong>.”</p><p>She stared at him for a moment and her mouth fell into a small frown. She almost looked <em>disappointed</em>, and Kane had to swallow around the sudden pit in his gut.</p><p>She blinked, and he saw the walls come up. A vulnerability that he hadn’t even realized was there evaporated before his eyes and it left him reeling. A hardness that he hadn’t seen in a while washed onto her face, and it made his lungs freeze. He opened his mouth to take it back, wondering how he could have fucked up this badly that quickly, and what he’d done in the process. He wanted to say <em>anything</em> that would make that rigidity recede once more, but she held her hand up to forestall him. The line through her right eye was pale, and drawn in a way he’d only ever seen a few times before.</p><p>It only looked like that when she was hurt, and not in a physical way. Kane gapped at the realization and he raised a hand to reach for her. Where that hand was going he had no clue, but the assistant had the distinct feeling that if he didn’t touch her now she’d float away from him for good. Her eyes flashed and she cleared her throat. Whatever she was going to say though was quickly covered when Ray re-entered the room.</p><p>“Alright! You, puss muffin! Out!” the pixie ordered, jerking her thumb toward the exit. “The lady is changing in here!”</p><p>Kane shook himself and stared at the blonde, who raised a brow at his inaction. He glanced back to Amara and hesitated. He wanted to fix this, but realized that it would be nearly impossible to do so with so many ears floating around. She gave no indication either way as to if she wanted him to stay or go, so the assistant ran a hand through his hair and left the room obediently. He didn’t go far though.</p><p>Feeling like the quintessential high school creep, Kane left the tattooing room and walked to the beaded curtain only to rustle it with his hand. He then crept back to the partition and ducked to the side behind a display that featured more than a dozen different books of tattoo samples. The assistant craned his head toward the door and listened in. </p><p>“Puss muffin Ray? Really? You didn’t have to do that.”He heard Amara say, and a drawer opened somewhere.</p><p>“What, get you a shirt or kick the magazine model out before he saw you half-naked?” Ray asked, and then he heard scissors cutting through fabric. It would be easier, Kane realized, to cut Amara out of her ruined clothing than it would be to try and pull it off over her head.</p><p>“Either.” The fighter replied, and the smaller woman scoffed.</p><p>“So? You might not care, but I do. He does. Nobody should get to ogle you for free.”</p><p>Kane could hear the scowl in her voice even from outside the room.</p><p>There was a sound of liquid glugging in a bottle and the rasp of a cloth against skin. “You know what I am Ray.” Amara said reservedly after a pause. “They can do a lot more then ogle me for free.”</p><p>There was a silence where a shirt was probably replaced before the blonde finally responded. “I know.” She stated firmly. “But right now you’re not a dog. Right now you’re my friend, who I haven’t seen in too damn long. And I’m going to take care of you.”</p><p>“…Thanks Ray.” The fighter replied softly, and Kane could almost taste the gratitude in her voice.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it sweetie.”</p><p>“He doesn’t.” Amara said after a moment, and continued after a pregnant pause. “Care I mean. He doesn’t care. None of them do. I’m not a person to them Ray. I’m not a person to anyone anymore.”</p><p>Kane stared down at his shoes and bit the inside of his cheek.</p><p>“You will <em>always</em> be a person to me.” Ray responded ardently, emotion rasping her voice at the bottom, and the assistant had to swallow to clear a suddenly tight throat.</p><p>The pair fell quiet for a moment and Kane took the opportunity to think.</p><p>Did he care? His automatic response was no, but his actions over the past few weeks seemed to be proving that notion wrong at every turn. Hell, he didn’t even technically have to be here tonight, but when Mathur had gotten the first frantic call from Demarko he’d been in the car before he could even think about it. He’d blame the fierce protectiveness he felt as a leftover from his days as a guard, but he’d been an assistant now for nearly twice the amount of time as he’d been watching the fighter. They weren’t particularly close. They weren’t friends. He’d barely known anything about her before last week, and he was happy to keep it that way. <strong><em>Wasn’t he!?</em></strong></p><p>“They seem…” Ray began speaking again, and Kane shook himself back to the present. “…uptight.” She offered finally, and he heard the rustling of fabric.</p><p>“Like they’ve got a herd of reindeer shoved up their collective asses you mean.” Came Amara’s scoffed reply.</p><p>“That’s… yes. That’s exactly what I meant. What’s with all the security? They don’t trust you, even after everything?”</p><p>“Who knows?” Amara replied. “I think it’s more that their boss doesn’t trust me. Owners are finicky like that.”</p><p>There was another pause where Kane heard something meet the plastic of a trashcan. “You’re still got gonna tell me who that is, are you?” Ray asked, and the fighter replied with an instant, “Hell no.”</p><p>“You seem to trust them though.” Ray offered, and Kane’s ears perked even more.</p><p>“They’re decent guys.” The fighter said. “Demarko’s annoying at times and Smith makes me want to slap him he’s so dull, but they’re good men. I don’t think they’d screw me over if they could help it.”</p><p>Kane mentally gave a sigh of relief. Despite whatever weirdness there was between himself and Amara, he was thankful to hear that there wasn’t any malicious dislike between the southerner and her guards. The animosity Hiram and some of the other dogs seemed to have toward him and Yaruka’s other men had been bugging him all week, and he’d been wondering if Amara felt the same way underneath all of her pomp and bluster. The fact that she seemed to trust the guards gave him some peace of mind, and quieted some of the small but insistent doubts that he’d had about her.</p><p>He should have really left then, and god help him he was going to! He’d heard what he needed to, and if Amara caught him eves dropping he’d be in even more shit than he already was. He also needed a moment to think about what he’d seen in her eyes in that room, but Ray’s next question drew him up short.</p><p>“Not even Kane?”</p><p>“Kane is….” The assistant held his breath. “…complicated. Half the time I can’t figure out what he wants. Sometimes I don’t think he even knows.”She spoke slowly, almost sadly. It twisted a knife in Kane’s gut that he hadn’t realized had been there. She’d really been disappointed with his answer earlier, and the assistant had to wonder why. Was his loyalty to Yaruka so out of the realm of imagination?</p><p>“So there’s nothing else there?” Ray asked, and Kane felt his stomach drop out of his ass<strong><em>. She couldn’t mean…. I mean, there is NO WAY that…  </em></strong></p><p>“Fuck no!” the ardent response came before Kane could completely panic, but the follow-up question sent him spiraling right back into anxiety. “Why the hell do you ask?”</p><p>Ray snorted and Kane had to physically brace himself on the wall to keep from falling over. “People don’t usually get that upset unless they, oh I don’t know…<em>care</em> about somebody.” She said, and the assistant heard Amara scoff.</p><p>“He cares about his <em>job </em>Ray.” She stated bluntly and Kane felt his stomach roll. “I just so happen to be part of that job. How would you feel if you let Spike’s Chihuahua run off?”</p><p>Ray blew out a breath in a huff, but evidently decided not to push it. “Whatever you say, girl.”</p><p>There was a muted squeak, indicating that something had shifted weight on the chair and Amara changed the subject abruptly. “Anyway, we’ve covered me. What about you? How’s life Ray?”</p><p>The smaller woman laughed. “Oh you know, same old same old. Boy drama abounds, but what can you do?”</p><p>“You’re not still with Connor?” Amara asked, and Kane frowned at how odd it was to hear that kind of statement come out of her mouth.</p><p>“Hell no!” Ray replied with gusto. “He turned out to be a dick! He threatened to hurt my cat and kept following me to work.”</p><p>“What the fresh hell!? Do I need to pay this guy a visit? I can very easily make it look like an accident.”</p><p>It sounded like a joke, but knowing what the fighter was capable of Kane hoped whoever this Conner guy was that he wasn’t too important to anybody. </p><p>“Ha! No.” Ray barked out a laugh and Kane thought distantly that Conner had just gotten very lucky. “The guy I was seeing after that took care of him for me.” She continued.</p><p>“And who was that?” Amara lead.</p><p>“You remember Huston right?”</p><p>There was a brief pause and then Kane heard Amara gasp dramatically. “You did <em>not</em> hit that! Oh my god! He was so pretty!”</p><p>“Pretty dumb…”</p><p>The conversation trailed off as Kane shook his head and hastily, but silently, exited the tattoo portion of the shop and made his way to the front of the store. Mathur was there, just hanging up the phone, and nodded at the assistant in greeting.</p><p>“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The copper-toned man observed, and Kane blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.</p><p>“I might as well have. I just heard Amara talking girl.”</p><p>Mathur got a pained look on his face and reached up to pat the assistant on the shoulder. “Little man, it pains me to have to remind you of this, but Amara <em>is</em> a girl.”</p><p>“I <em>know</em> that.” He retorted acerbically, and shoved his hands in his pants pockets.</p><p>“But you seem to keep forgetting it.”</p><p>Kane didn’t say anything and Mathur sighed. “Look, I get it. You grew up as the man of the house and if you see her as a girl then you’re going to fall into this awkward place where her gender makes you have to protect her, but her job means that’s not a possibility. Did you ever think, Kane, that she can be a girl and still not need your protection?”</p><p>Kane looked at him with a consternated and pinched lipped gaze, and tried to keep himself from physically flinching. Mathur was almost as good as Amara at cutting right to the quick of an issue. The only difference being that Mathur tended to do so with a little cushion behind the blow. That didn’t mean that the assessment wasn’t still a slap in the face though. The casual dissection of why he was having such a hard time reconciling with the fighter put the assistant back on his heels. He wanted to deny it, but deep down knew it was true.</p><p>His whole life after his father’s desertion and subsequent death Kane had made himself responsible for keeping his family afloat. His mother was a strong woman; hard-working and tenacious, but under it all she still held a softness about her that had allowed the world to hurt her. He’d seen it on late nights when he’d sneak down the stairs after she’d thought he’d been asleep. The raw pain of a human in above their head and drowning in abandonment. He had seen her cradle her head in her hands at the kitchen table, poring over bills bleeding thick with red and trying to keep her shaking shoulders quiet, yet still somehow too proud to apply for federal aid. His aunt, who had dropped everything to move in with them after the divorce, would put her hand on her shoulder lightly, trying in vain to poor steal into a spine that had never been meant to hold up the weight of the world alone.</p><p>After that he’d worked his ass off to put things to right. He’d scraped and bled and sweated for years to make sure that his mother would never have to look like that again, and when Yaruka had come calling Kane had nearly sung a full choir hallelujah in gratitude. But he wasn’t going to tell Mathur that. Not in a million years.  </p><p>“Whatever,” he threw back instead, voice even despite the bitter taste it left in his mouth. “So what does Hill say?”</p><p>Mathur arched a brow, but let it drop. “He sent Lloyd out with a second car to pick up you and Smith. Demarko and I are going to take her to Michaelson. He’s on-call tonight so we’re going to have to sneak her into Clinton. The boss wants a full report tomorrow, but for right now he’s satisfied that she’s under guard and in one piece.”</p><p>“How pissed do you think he’s going to be about them knowing her name?”</p><p>“Honestly?” the man remarked with a shake of his head. “I have no idea. I used to be able to fairly accurately predict how he’d react to stuff like this but now? When it comes to her…I never know anymore which ways he’s going to swing.”</p><p>“I get what you’re saying.” Kane said after a pause, and Mather shot him a sharp-eyed look.</p><p>“Do you?” he asked, and the assistant felt himself get pinned by those eyes. “He’s becoming more erratic Kane. Can you imagine him punishing her for this a few years ago? Something that was completely beyond her control? Because I can’t. Now…”</p><p>He trailed off and Kane swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. “Ok, so what? You think he’s got a screw loose or something?” he asked with an incredulous brow.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Came Mathur’s simple reply, and it brought the assistant up short.</p><p>He regarded the man seriously. Mathur had been with Yaruka for years; had outranked Kane even before he’d showed up for his first day, and had never once even twitched in the direction of treason.</p><p>“Then why are you still working for him?” Kane asked, suspicion and accusation seeping into his tone.“If you really think Yaruka is off his rocker why stick around?”</p><p>Mathur eyed him, hard, and was silent. The augmented light coming off the street set his high cheekbones into shadows, and made the cool sheen in his eyes more pronounced. </p><p>“You can stow your suspicions Kane.” The man finally said in a voice like ice. “I’m still here to do my job. His safety is still my top priority. You’re not the only one who owes the man more than your life.”</p><p>Kane felt the sting of justice in that and had the decency to let his eyes fall to the floor.</p><p>“But I have to wonder…” Mathur continued, drawing the assistant’s gaze back up to his face. “How would you feel if he wound up killing her? Because in my mind that’s the only way this ends. If he keeps these punishments up, one of these days we’re not going to be trying to sneak her into a hospital….we’re going to be trying to sneak her into a morgue.”</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter Sixteen: A hard time functioning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not sure how I feel about this plot point. Thoughts?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Banner came to he was in the hospital. It was two days after the church, if the nurses’ calendar on the wall could be trusted, and his sister was curled up in a chair sound asleep by his bedside. Banner cursed under his breath went he finally put the pieces together, and stared over at his sibling with a forlorn gaze. Lexi was a young and busy actress who had no business taking time out of her life to sleep on his IV. The bags under her long lashes told him all he needed to know about how long she’d been here, and he felt the guilt sink into his gut like a lead weight. It only got worse, as the next morning came, when he discovered that it wasn’t just Lexi, but the rest of his entire family, who had taken it upon themselves to descend out of the county and into his hospital room. They crowded in like a three-ring circus, and Banner heard his heart rate go up on the monitor behind him.</p><p>It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate their concern. He knew how lucky he was to have the family that he did, and as crazy as they were, he wouldn’t trade them for anything. That didn’t mean that he wanted the whole heard to see him like this, sitting in an ass-less gown in a hospital bed after an embarrassing loss and a simple bump on the head…. Or major concussion…. Whatever.  </p><p>He finally kicked them out after a few hours of his mother’s fluttering and Craig and Lexi’s requisite bickering. They promised to come back later after lunch, which Banner agreed to and bore with the internal cringe that that warranted, and smiled none the less. He did, however, quietly decide that he would sluff them off on Lexi when he finally go out of here. She was due for a familial invasion, and she owed him from last Christmas.</p><p>The detective had just breathed a sigh of relief in his relative’s wake, when he glanced up and found his partner leaning in the doorway with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. O’Neil had always loved laughing at his pain, and it didn’t look like his hospitalization had changed that at all. She had three stitches in her temple, but otherwise looked to be no worse for the wear.</p><p>“What the hell happened?” he asked once his family was out of sight, and the grin melted off her face. She sighed like a tracker tire deflating and entered the room to take up Lexi’s vacated chair.</p><p>“We found you in a NA paper mill bleeding all over their quarterly reports. No sign of the wolf or any other fighters in the area, and a baseline vicinity search turned up jack shit. Their trail was cold by the time we found you. You mind telling me how the hell you wound up in there?”</p><p>It had been Banner’s turn to sigh and cast his eyes toward the florescent ceiling lights in disappointment. He hadn’t held out much hope that the southerner had been taken into custody, but it was still a punch to the gut to know that the entire bust had been for nothing. He’d turned his head to answer his partner’s question, but was forestalled by the clacking of heels coming down the hallway. The partners’ heads turned in unison and a moment later Captain Hernández swept into the room with a customary authoritative entrance.</p><p>“Banner. Good, you’re awake.” She surmised, assessing him with an encompassing sweep of her eyes. “I hope you’ve gotten enough beauty sleep to be up to giving your statement?”</p><p>Banner looked at his partner, shocked brows arching up his forehead, and bit back snort as she grinned at him sheepishly.</p><p>“Did I mention that the Captain was on her way to get you statement?” she said, and Banner rolled his eyes.</p><p>Turning back to the captain Banner nodded and tried to sit up straighter on the bed. O’Neil stood and pressed a button on the inside of the bed frame that sat him up at a semi-respectable angle and stepped to the side to vacate the chair for the captain.</p><p>Hernández sat and pulled a recording device from her blazer pocket. She sat it on the customary rolling tray table positioned over his lap and crossed her legs elegantly. “We’ve gotten all we can from O’Neil, but we need your account of what happened once the two of you separated.” She said. “My apologies for the abrupt nature of this interview, but we need to get a jump on this shit storm a soon as possible.”</p><p>Banner nodded again and coughed to clear his throat.</p><p>“Captain, might I suggest waiting for Pike?” His partner asked before he could speak, tilting her head down at the suggestion and stepping out into a relaxed ‘at ease’ stance. “I’m sure it would be easier for Banner to only go through this once and keep us all on the same page.”</p><p>Banner sent her a thankful look over the captain’s shoulder. Both for the reprieve from having to tell this story twice, and for the subtle slide in that Pike was now in on this investigation. That, and the fact that it was the captain herself who was taking his statement meant that the fighting rings case was now not just Midtown, but the whole of Trinity’s FED’s top priority.</p><p>Hernández nodded in acceptance. “He shouldn’t be far behind me. One of his men is down in the burn unit.”</p><p>Banner winced in sympathy.</p><p>Not long after that Pike poked his head around the corner and entered the room with all the bluster of a man who was out for blood. The anger in his tense shoulders made him look twice a broad as was, and the thinly veiled frustration soured the lines of his mouth. Say what you wanted about the Uptown strike team leader, but when it came down to loyalty there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for one of his team. And the fact that one of them was laid up in the burn unit, with no physical cause present for Pike to target his wrath at, was going to make this a very interesting meeting.</p><p>The Captain greeted the man and then turned her attention back to Banner. Behind her he saw Pike step stiffly up beside O’Neil and consciously give her more space than was strictly necessary.</p><p>Clicking the recording device on, the captain began in a formal tone. “Detective O’Neil has informed us that after the events of the May 22<sup>nd</sup> church incursion, which has already been heavily documented, you and your partner decided to make a pursuit on a male suspect identified by multiple officers as the ‘Bluetick’ and later by you and your partner as ‘Garret’ from the suspected fighting ring location at the former St. John’s Cathedral. Is this correct?”</p><p>“Yes.” He answered simply.</p><p>“And is it true that you followed this suspect into the Downtown dockside area where he then met with another suspected fighter from the rings?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Can you please elaborate?”</p><p>“When my partner and I arrived at the alley off 14<sup>th</sup> and Main we discovered that the previously identifies male suspect was waiting for something.” He licked his lips and blinked, remembering the desperate air of that night. “It was then revealed to us that a female suspect, whom we had identified earlier at the ring location, was meeting the blue tick at end of the thoroughfare leading on to Gardner Street.”</p><p>The Captain nodded and interlaced her fingers on top of her knee. “Who was this female suspect?”</p><p>“Her known aliases are ‘the wolf’ and ‘Amara’.” Banner answered. “That was what the blue tick referred to her as at least.” </p><p>“So there were two suspects who you and your partner cornered at the end of an alley off 14<sup>th</sup> street, where you discharged your weapon. Why did you fire upon the suspects detective?” the captain asked, “And why were you using a secondary sidearm designated for emergency use only instead of your standard issued weaponry?”</p><p>Banner knew these were standard questions, but it didn’t stop the inquiry from feeling like an accusation. He swallowed and tried not to sound defensive as he answered. “I was disarmed in the church by the aforementioned female suspect during the preliminary raid, and lost my standard issue weapon and ammunition.” He glanced over at O’Neil who gave him a small nod of encouragement.</p><p>“When our location was compromised the suspects attempted to flee, so we drew on them and my partner fired a warning shot. We approached with weapons drawn as they had proven to be both volatile and dangerous even when unarmed. When my partner attempted to handcuff the female suspect, she resisted arrest and…” he trailed off.</p><p>The captain arched a brow at him, but gave him a moment to gather himself.</p><p>“The female suspect resisted arrest by knocking down my partner in a violent manner. I had reason to believe that the two suspects meant detective O’Neil great physical harm. I was….”</p><p>He trailed off again and Hernández took pity. “You made a call detective. Any other officer would have made the same one.”</p><p>Banner nodded, swallowing around the immediate denial that rose in his throat.  </p><p>The captain continued. “After discharging your weapon you chose to pursue the female suspect, also referred to as ‘the wolf’ or ‘Amara’, into the New Alliance affiliated paper production facility located on 17<sup>th</sup> and Garner. Why did you make this decision detective? And, to the best of your knowledge and memory, what were the events that followed the separation of you and your partner?”</p><p>Banner licked his lips and took a deep breath. “The fighters split up after O’Neil and I separated. My partner was incapacitated, but not heavily injured or in immediate danger. I had to make a call. The wolf was more heavily injured and I figured that the paper mill would be swarming with back up…” He let the statement hang, and he saw O’Neil shoot a venomous look over at Pike. Obviously there was a story there, and O’Neil clearly blamed Pike for something.</p><p>“Didn’t we set off a silent alarm?” he asked, and Hernández sighed.</p><p>“You did, but 90% of the force was focused on the fire in Midtown from the church.” She paused and her eyes twitched back towards Pike. The movement was minuscule and probably unintentional, but Banner caught it all the same. “Nobody thought anything of a silent alarm going off at a less-than-important paper mill a whole town over. Furthermore, that particular mill hadn’t been in operation for more than six months.”</p><p><strong><em>So that’s why O’Neil is pissed</em></strong>, Banner thought, connecting the dots. It would have been Pike’s call to ignore the alarm since he was the most senior officer in the field. And regardless of how rational it had seemed in the moment that decision had probably lost them the fighters.</p><p>Banner sighed. “Which is something she probably knew. Is it just me, or do these fighters seem to know this city a hell of a lot better than we do?”</p><p>O’Neil snorted and Pike shifted awkwardly. At the captain’s arched brow Banner reclaimed his formal tone and continued his report. “Regardless, I don’t think the night was a total loss. After making the decision to pursue the female suspect I followed her into the aforementioned New Alliance facility and proceeded to engage in a standard building search. There were security cameras in the building. I clocked at least two while on the production floor and another at the entrance. She gave us a lot of good information while we were playing hide and seek. You pulled the footage right?”</p><p>O’Neil grimaced and propped a hip up on the vacant hospital bed to his left. “The circuit wire for the CCTV was cut with some kind of scythe. We’ve only got video of you up until you entered the production floor.”</p><p>Banner cursed and let his eyes drift heavenward. He resisted the urge to slam his head back against the bed rails in frustration. “So you have no video evidence of what happened in that mill. No recordings of what she said.”</p><p>“No”, the captain said simply.</p><p>“So if this goes to court it’d be his word against hers. And you went and got your brains scrambled so you’re not a reliable witness anymore, regardless of how good a UC you are Banner.” Pike finally spoke, and crossed his arms across his chest.</p><p>Hernández looked at him and pursed our lips. “Though I admire your due diligence Pike, I’d think that you would be in agreement with me that it’s more important to get these fighters in custody than it is to worry about a hypothetical trial at this point in the investigation.”</p><p>“Um, actually Captain…” Banner began, and he coughed to clear his throat. O’Neil poured him a glass of water from the plastic pitcher located on the tray table and Banner accepted it with a grateful look.</p><p>“The collars… there’s more to them than what we thought.” He continued, and the Captain arched a sculpted brow, indicating that he should go on.</p><p>So he told them. Told them all about the outlawed technology hidden in the collars and their sinister purpose, and he watched as the disgust and horror sank into their faces. Three of the most seasoned and hard ass FED officers he’d ever met, and all of them looked like they had just smelt something foul. </p><p>“Well, shit fucking hell…” O’Neil surmised after he had finished, and Hernández didn’t even bother to correct her language while they were on an official recording.</p><p>“So, if she’s telling the truth,” she said instead, eyes hard and heel drumming on the linoleum floor. “Then the dogs are completely useless to us. Unless we can figure out a way to counteract the collars they can’t say a damn thing, even if they wanted to. And we’d risk killing them by bringing them in or interrogating them on even the smallest detail.”</p><p>“That’s awful convenient for them.” Pike growled, and O’Neil nodded in reluctant agreement.</p><p>“I believe she was telling the truth.” Banner said, and they all looked at him skeptically.</p><p>“She could have just been jerking your chain Banner.” O’Neil pointed out, arching a brow. “Just like she did in the alley. That girl didn’t seem like one to pull punches. She might just be trying to save her own ass. If she can make the dogs useless to us then it bungles this whole investigation. You think she wouldn’t sell you a boatload of shit to make sure we left the fighters alone?”</p><p>Banner shook his head. “I get where you’re coming from. I really do, but you didn’t see the way she looked in that mill O’Neil. That wasn’t the voice of someone pulling bull shit out of thin air. She might have just been trying to bide her time until her backup got there. Or she might have let it slip to throw us off the other fighters…but I still don’t think she was making it up. There were too many specifics. Too much emotion in it all. I know it sounds shoddy, but my gut says she was telling the truth… and I’ve learned to trust my gut on stuff like this.”</p><p>“Well, your gut might work for UC work Banner, but in the real world we need hard evidence.” Pike drawled from his spot behind the captain, and O’Neil cast him a look that could have peeled paint.</p><p>“Let’s get back on track here.” The captain cut in wisely, saving them all from a knockdown drag out in the middle of his hospital room. “What else happened in the mill Banner?” </p><p>Banner ran through that night like he was threading a needle. Using every ounce of memorization skill that he’d gathered over his years as a UC, he ran through every instant, moment by moment, including everything he could remember. Every sight, smell and sound came back to him in waves. He’d learned over the years that even the most innocuous detail could prove to be important later down the line, so he didn’t leave anything out. It took some time. Over an hour at least, and by the end of it he’d been through three more glasses of water.</p><p>When he had finished the captain sighed, and turned off the recording device. “Well hell….This is a lot to unpack. But I think it’ll hold until you’ve gotten back in the precinct Banner. I appreciate your willingness and readiness to give your statement here in the first place. We’ll get back at it in a few days when you’re back on your feet.” </p><p>When Banner didn’t agree she arched a brow at him, and he swallowed. He also felt O’Neil’s eye rest heavily on him, and the feeling only intensified when the detective refused to make eye contact with her. He didn’t want to do this in front of his partner, or Pike for that matter, but it looked like he didn’t have much of a choice.</p><p>Banner swallowed again and cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I can stay on this case captain.” He admitted in a solemn voice, lifting his chin to look her in the eye. He felt O’Neil boring holes in the side of his head, but he didn’t turn to look at her. He kept his gaze resolutely on the captain, and waited for her response.</p><p>She was silent for a moment, and regarded him coolly. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed. “O’Neil. Pike. Go take a walk.” She ordered, and the two officers were quick to follow her command.</p><p>“What do you mean detective?” she asked seriously once the two had cleared the room.</p><p>“I mean it’s too personal for me.” He answered, picking at the sheet across his lap absentmindedly. “I shot those people captain. Not with rubber ammunition, and not as a warning. I shot those fighters and…I could have killed that man if it weren’t for the wolf.” He trailed off for a moment before he found the courage to ask what he’d been dying too ever since he’d pulled the trigger that night in the alley. “When was the last time a FED killed an innocent civilian?”</p><p>“Probably before the war.” The captain answered simply. “That was a big reason there was so much racial tension in the old south. Too many police homicides of innocent black men or other people of color…It ate them alive from the inside out.”</p><p>“So decades ago.” Banner surmised, and shook his head in denial. “Captain…I don’t want to be the man that shoots first and asks questions later.”</p><p>She was quiet for a moment, gazing into the middle distance between them with oddly pained look on her face before her penetrating gaze fell back to him. “You’re a good detective Banner.” She said. “One of the best. You and O’Neil both…and if you tell anyone I said that I’ll have you riding a desk until retirement.”</p><p>Banner snorted despite himself, but held his tongue while she continued. “We need you on this case. Not despite the fact that it’s personal to you. But <em>because </em>it’s personal to you. Other detectives see the dogs as just as bad as the men running the rings. You know that they’re not. You’ve been a UC and a detective long enough to know that there’s a difference between malice and desperation. You know that they’re victims at the end of the day.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure anymore captain.” He responded quietly. “The wolf…Amara told me that all the fighters sign up willingly. That they knew what they were getting into. And what makes that any different than the men shoving them in the arena?”</p><p>They were both quiet for a moment. The only sound was the slightly elevated beeping of Banner’s heart monitor and the drum of the captain's manicured nails on the tray table as she regarded him. It was a disjointed march. An ill-timed drum beat that set the detective’s teeth on edge and made the beeping of his heart rate spike another notch. He wondered absentmindedly if he could make it match the clicking of the captain’s nails, and what kind of incoherent metaphor that was.</p><p>“Do you remember the Machaule case?” the captain asked suddenly, and Banner’s mind reeled to try and catch up. “Back when you and O’Neil had just partnered up? You went undercover back in Downtown to help them out with a missing person’s case, even though we knew you had been made on your last run with the Downtown precinct.” She continued when he didn’t respond. Recollection dawned on Banner faintly, but he hadn’t the foggiest why Hernández was bringing up the long-forgotten and bungled case now.</p><p>“Yes, vaguely.” He responded pryingly.</p><p>“You were assigned to pose as a Good Samaritan and gain access to the dockside underground and find a kid by the name of Lamar Machaule. As I recall the infiltration went sideways pretty fast.”</p><p><strong><em>Understatement of the decade, </em></strong>Banner thought bitterly, but didn’t say anything out loud.</p><p>“By the time we found you and the kid you’d had to drag him across half the city.” She continued. “Ring any bells?”</p><p>“Sure. But captain, what does that have to do with—?”</p><p>“Why did you have to run with Lamar Machaule detective?” she asked, rolling over him easily.</p><p>Banner was still confused, but answered simply enough. “He wouldn’t stop screaming.” He said, thinking back to the panicked cries ringing through abandoned subway tunnels as he ran for his life in a borrowed red and white jersey. “The men that had taken him…they had convinced him that they were working for his father. The Machaule family had just immigrated to Trinity from the old East African settlements, and they spoke the kid’s language. I didn’t. To him, I was the one kidnapping him and they were the ones trying to take him home, not the other way around.”</p><p>The captain nodded like an approving school teacher and crossed her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “Those men had Lamar for all of twenty-four hours detective…These fighters have been in the rings for <em>years</em>. Did you ever think that maybe we don’t speak their language either? That to them, we’re the bad guys and not the other way around?”</p><p>Banner reeled back a little in shock. He’d never thought about it like that before, and suddenly he felt ashamed that it had taken a push form Hernández to get him there. He’d seen it a thousand times on patrol. Victims of domestic violence that had become conditioned to think that they deserved the abuse they got; or kids who’d been so conditioned by their parents that they didn’t even know that another option existed for them. It wasn’t by any means a stretch of the imagination to group the dogs in with those sufferers; who couldn’t see that there was a way out for them, if only they’d take it.</p><p>“Stalkholme syndrome is a powerful thing detective.” The captain spoke again, drawing him out of his reprieve. Her expression told the detective that she’d probably known exactly where his thoughts had landed, and was gladdened by his revelation. “And if what you’re saying is true, then they probably <em>do </em>believe that they signed up for some kind of noble cause. Which, let’s be honest here, will make it even harder for us to get through to them.”</p><p>Banner nodded mutely. He was still unsure, still processing the idea that the cold-eyed warrior he’d seen in the pits and in that alley could be just as battered and abused as some of the women he’d seen at the Good Samaritan’s shelter. That at the end of the day, Amara wasn’t a soldier but a battered civilian caught in the crossfire…as they had originally assumed at the beginning of this godforsaken operation. Over time though, as he got more entrenched and mired in the rings bedlam, (and especially since her little admission in the mill) Banner had begun to believe that he and the southerner were the same. That they were made of matching dented steel and gunpowder. Subconsciously, he’d put her in the same boots as any other military servant who’d walked into a war under oath. Not undeserving of sympathy from a brother, but not completely innocent either. Could it be that, underneath all that scar tissue, there was a blameless girl caught in a web of criminality? He shook his head to clear it and met the captain’s eye once again.</p><p>“Don’t let your frustration shake that iron sense of right and wrong you have detective.” She said, bright eyes burning into his. “I’d hate to think that you and your partner had been such a royal pain in my ass for this long for nothing.”</p><p>Banner laughed outright at that, and the captain allowed herself a smirk.</p><p>“I guess that’s why they pay you to big bucks Captain. I’ve been on this case for over a year and you already seem to be one step ahead of me.”</p><p>“Don’t be too hard on yourself detective,” she replied. “I’ve been looking at this with fresh eyes.”</p><p>Banner allowed himself a wry quirk of the lips and relaxed a little into the lumpy hospital bedding. Later he’d probably kick himself for allowing the captain to pull him so easily back into the madness of this case, but for now he was relieved to find resolve settling back into his spine. This case wouldn’t be easy; that was for damn sure. And so far it had already worked to shake the foundations of everything he’d built his carrier on. Under it all he still wasn’t sure if they’d all come out it the other end the same, but he was willing to try. Come hell or high water he’d get to the bottom of this cluster fuck, and he prayed to God that he did so before anybody else got hurt.</p><p>In his relief he allowed himself to drift back to the foggy production floor of that night in his mind. Taking Hernández’s advice, he forced himself to consider everything the fighter had said to him again. There had to be something there. Something behind the insanity of it all that would make this mess make sense.</p><p>He thought for a moment and a question suddenly dawned on him. Well, smacked him in the face was more accurate, but he tried to maintain his cool in front of his boss. “How plausible is it that we’ve been looking at this whole thing wrong since the beginning?” he asked, and fought to keep the tremor out of his voice. </p><p>“What makes you say that?” the captain asked, her chin tilting to the side and eyes drawing narrow in a calculated gaze.</p><p>“She let something slip while I was trying to run her down in the mill. Probably on purpose to throw us off but…Now that I’m looking at it differently—with new eyes so to say—the pieces we’ve been looking at might be more connected then we thought. ”</p><p>“Hang on.” She said, cutting him off and holding up a hand to forestall him. “If you’re over your little self-identity crisis I’m going to get your partner and Pike back in here.”</p><p>Banner nodded and Hernández regarded him with an arched brow. “Are you solid, detective?” she asked, and Banner didn’t hesitate to reply.</p><p>“Yes sir.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>……………………….………………………..</p><p> </p><p>When O’Neil came back into the room she made eye contact with Banner immediately. A whole conversation passed between them in the scant moments it took for Pike and Hernández to resettle, and Banner saw the tension bleed out of his partner’s shoulders when she registered his renewed determination. He also saw that there was an ass chewing in his future for scaring her like that, but the detective found solace in the knowledge that she’d hold off until at least the captain had left.</p><p>“So what is it that this fighter said that was so earth-shattering detective?” Hernández asked, and Banner licked his lips.</p><p>“We’ve been operating under the assumption that the originals agreed to fight to stop the gangs from using animals as entertainment. Which, to someone dedicated enough,” he clarified to Pike’s vindictive scoff, “would seem like a valid reason. But if that was all it was, then why are the rings still operational?” he asked and he saw O’Neil sit up straighter out of the corner of his eye. She had already caught up to him, bless her soul, and Banner saw the cogs turning in her keen mind. He continued. “Most of the originals are dead and the rings have expanded well beyond what they had originally set out to do. Why, if that was the only reason, would new fighters continue to sell themselves to the rings? We know it’s not money, and it sure as shit isn’t for fame. If they’re not stone-cold killers, then why would any sane person put themselves in that kind of a situation?”</p><p>The captain pursed her lips and nodded. “I’m following you, detective.”</p><p>“Okay. Well, what if there was something else pulling the fighters in? Something beyond giving a few reprobates something to do with themselves. We assumed that new recruits came from those who had nowhere else to go, but that doesn’t make any sense. Before the war, sure. The poor and homeless would have flocked to something like the rings.”</p><p>O’Neil barked out a dark chuckle and nodded her agreement. “Food, housing, and a cushy life on a Noble’s dime? For the small price of losing some skin in a few fights? It would have been a no brainer.” She said. </p><p>“But now?” Banner continued, picking up off his partner. “With all the social programs and welfare available to people down on their luck? That’s one hard sell on something they can get for free at a help house without selling themselves into combat slavery.”</p><p>There was a pause where all Banner could hear was the muted chatter coming from the nurses’ station down the hall.</p><p>“You’re right.” The captain said, finally. “It doesn’t check out.”</p><p>Pike still didn’t look convinced, but Banner could see even his brain gnawing on the concept. “So then there has to be something.” He argued. “Something else selling the dogs on staying in the pits. Some reason that gives them a purpose. Something that goes back all the way to the beginning. And maybe…maybe they <em>did</em> have a reason, besides the animals, for signing up in the first place.”</p><p>“And what possible reason could that be?” Pike barked, skepticism in the lines on his forehead.</p><p>Banner sat up straighter with the aid of the bed’s automatic recline and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting shaggy on the sides, and would be in need of a cut soon. “She told me something, in the mill.” He said. “She said, 'They had kids' but then she cut herself off. Like it was a mistake. Now, whether or not she was lying about the collars is still up for debate, but I think that was the first real slip up she made.”</p><p>The detective looked over to his partner and caught her eye. “O’Neil, you’ve lived in Trinity your whole life. Do you have any idea what that means?”</p><p>Chewing on her lip, his partner looked like she was about to deny him. Then, as her jaw slowly dropped, Banner saw the blood leave her face. Her eyes grew wide, mophing into molten brown pools that held both shock and horror, and her hand came up to clasp at the simple chain necklace that her girls had given her last mother’s day.</p><p>“Ho-ly fuck…” she all but whispered, slowly. “Ho-ly fuck!” she said again, more loudly, and Banner was starting to get worried. In all their years working together, he’d never seen her react like this.</p><p>“O’Neil?” he asked, concerned. But the other detective’s eyes were locked solely on the captain.</p><p>“Captain. Five years ago. The orphanage spike.” She said, tone clipped and almost panicked.</p><p>Hernández’s expression was confused for a second too, before her face morphed into a mirror of O’Neil’s and she let slip one of her few allotted blasphemes.  </p><p>“Dios mío.” She breathed, and now Banner really was going to lose it. “Hijo de puta. Mother of God if that…”</p><p>“Captain?” he asked, desperate to know what the two Trinity natives had put together without him.</p><p>Hernández sighed and stood to begin pacing the length of his hospital room. “Five years ago, just before the dogs started popping up on our radar, we started hearing reports of children getting pulled out of homes and orphanages, only to be returned a few weeks later. We never thought anything of it; figured it was a spike in first-time adoptions. It was all over the news—people go crazy for a happy ending—but if your fighter is telling the truth then….” She paused and Banner felt the light bulb go off above his head. The sick realization made him understand acutely the horror he’s seen in O’Neil’s face, and the detective felt like he might be sick.</p><p>“They might have been trying to up their game.” The captain continued. “If they were trying to make the fights more…<em>entertaining</em>” she all but spit “then they might have been trying to get kids into the ring.”</p><p>“Holy hell! That’s goddamn sick!” Pike barked and Banner had to agree. The strike team leader had gone pale under his tan and the dragon tattoo on his bicep slithered as the muscle clenched.</p><p>“There’s nothing to confirm it. Not yet, but it makes sense.” The captain said, pausing in her pacing and resting a hand on her hip while the other cupped her chin. Bright and calculating eyes swept over the space between them, and Banner could almost hear the evidence clicking into place before her gaze.</p><p>O’Neil sat silent to his left, hand still firmly clasped around the chain, and Banner felt the skin around his eyes draw taught. Her girls, her babies, could have wound up in one of those homes if the shuttle crash that had taken their biological mother had taken Lucas as well. If God had been a little less kind, if Marina hadn’t come into their lives, then it might have been little Sasha or Brianna that had wound up in those rings. The very idea seized his lungs and made a cold shock run up his spine.</p><p>“So you were right.” Pike surmised, and leaned back against the wall with a resigned sigh. His eyes were far away and he shook his head slowly back and forth in astonishment. “The originals were basically forced into their collars. And then they tried to rationalize it all. Now they’re probably selling the dog on not only having a cushy life with a Noble, but on the idea that they’re keeping the kids around their neighborhoods safe. Hot damn.”</p><p>Banner nodded. “The wolf—Amara—was completely assimilated.” He agreed. “Brainwashed to believe that the originals signed up for some kind of noble cause and that… I don’t know… that somehow makes it ok. The girl was crazy.”</p><p>“Not really.” O’Neil piped up from across the room, tone solemn and more reserved than her usual bite.</p><p>Banner looked at her, brow arched.</p><p>“Come on Banner.” She scoffed, crossing her arms and meeting his look. “You were in the Navy for Christ’s sake. You of all people should get it. They had a choice. A shitty choice, but a choice none the less.” Her voice was hard and laced with a tinge of respect. “They could have just dropped it and walked away. Left the rings up to the FED to handle, but they didn’t. They chose to get involved. They chose to give themselves up to keep something horrible from happening, and when you look at it that way? It doesn’t seem so crazy.”</p><p>The room at large drew up at that. Even Hernández looked taken aback. Or as taken aback as she ever allowed herself to look. O’Neil had made a point though. While he had just been focusing on the horror of it all, how it was even possible that the gangs could have thought to do something like that, O’Neil had been thinking about the dogs. About their sacrifice in the face of such maliciousness, and what kind of light it cast them in.</p><p>“I’m not saying that they’re heroes, or that what they’re doing now is justified,” She continued. “but it sure as shit makes the wolf sound more like a martyr and less like a kamikaze.” </p><p>Banner chewed on his lip. “I don’t know O’Neil.” He said after a moment with a slight shake of the head. “That girl, she’s not…right. Something is… <em>off </em>about her.”</p><p>“Well, no shit.” His partner scoffed. “I think I figured that out about the time she took a bullet to the flank on purpose. If I’d been through what she’d been through, I’d probably be pretty fucked up too Banner.”</p><p>“No, like….Hell. I can’t put my finger on it. There was something almost…familiar?...about her. But unsettling. Something…dark.”</p><p>He let that hang in the air for a moment and steepled his fingers, thinking. “I get the dedication; holding on to something you think is right. But the malice? And the way she just <em>knew</em> where and who we were? That goes beyond a good soldier fighting for a cause. That’s near obsession.”</p><p>“You served in the FU right?” Pike asked, and Banner nodded at the seemingly out of nowhere question. “And she was definitely southern? Makes sense that she’d ring a bell. Don’t know how many of those tree huggers you saw in the FU, but from what I’ve heard they weren’t somethin’ you’d forget about real quick.”</p><p>“Yeah… I guess that must be it.” Banner agreed, still unsure. “She’s determined. Steadfast. Crafty as hell and not one to dick around with. A lot of the tribes in the south were like that.”</p><p>They were quiet for a moment and Hernández cleared her throat. “Pike, what was the damage to the church?”</p><p>“Burnt down to the ground.” Came the strike leader’s clipped reply. “No bodies recovered yet, so we’re pretty confident that no one was in the building when it came down. The only injuries reported were from my men.”</p><p>“No records of corresponding injuries at any of the surrounding hospitals or clinics either. Not even for a gunshot wound.” O’Neil concurred, before turning a scathing brow at the man. “How in the hell did she get away from your team in the first place Pike? There was a full strike team on her ass and half the building was on fire.” </p><p>Pike shot O’Neil a narrow-eyed look. If they had been alone Banner was sure the man would have been growling, but he responded nonetheless. “It was like she just vaporized. We had her cornered and just… it was like she flew away or something.” </p><p>“Great.” O’Neil sighed. “Now we’ve got fighters that can walk through walls. Fantastic.”</p><p>“Regardless, we’ve got a place to start.” The captain interjected, and Banner sat up straighter in surprise.            </p><p>“They’re still letting up lead this case?” he asked, incredulous, and Hernández quirked a half-smile in reply.</p><p>“With oversight, but yes. Someone from the NA investigative division will be coming in to ‘assist’ in our investigation. Let’s make sure whoever it is doesn’t even have to draw their badge.” She said, and from behind her Banner saw O’Neil’s face harden in agreement.</p><p>“This is my city.” The captain continued, “and I’ll be damned if the NA gets to come in here and clean up our mess for us. Banner, O’Neil. You now have the full power of the Trinity FED behind you. All databases, precincts, and jurisdictions are yours.”</p><p>Banner had to swallow around the shock and he glanced briefly to his partner to see her doing the same.</p><p>“Pike, I know your Uptown’s golden boy, and we’re going to need all the help we can get… but you defer to my people before you go charging in anywhere guns blazing, alright?”</p><p>Pike looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon, but nodded all the same.</p><p>Just then a nurse came through the door to take Banner’s vitals, and upon seeing the meeting gathered around the bed, promptly told them all that visiting hours were over. The stern set of her mouth and exhausted rings under her eyes told the federal officers that she meant business, so they began gathering their things to leave.</p><p>“This will hold until you’re back on your feet detective.” Hernández said. “I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop while you recover…at <em>home</em>.”</p><p>O’Neil gave him a wolfish grin. When he went to protest the captain rode over him before he could even get a word out. “You too O’Neil.” She ordered, and the grin was replaced with a petulant pout. “Head injuries are not something to screw around with, and I need you both at your best. This case won’t even get off the ground with anything less. ”</p><p>The partners nodded, responsibility and determination falling heavy on their shoulders.</p><p>“Good. We’ve got one last chance to get this right before we get closed out of everything and the NA takes over. Let’s get it right.”</p><p>“Yes sir!” </p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter Seventeen: Conversations in the kitchen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Short, but sweet chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Amara was on bed rest for two weeks. Only the threat of permanent disability from Dr. Michaelson had kept her there, and had kept Yaruka from unleashing unholy hell on her when he found out that the FED knew her name. The man had raged for a solid hour when she’d finally seen him back at the penthouse after being released from the hospital. Michaelson and Hill had had her under an intense thirty six-hour observation, and even then it had taken both Demarko and Usui to get her up to the penthouse once the damage from that night had finally caught up with her.</p><p>She supposed that she should have thanked Kane for his subtle manipulation of the Noble when she discovered that he was actually angrier with the FED than he was with her. The way he must have phrased it had obviously painted her in a flattering light. That of a good and obedient servant who had made the best of a shitty situation, rather than as a rebellious vassal who had defied her superior and taken the first opportunity that had presented itself to run. He had also taken the liberty of throwing Garret under the bus—though Yaruka only knew of him as Noble O’Riely’s dog—, and for that, he could go fuck himself.</p><p>She counted herself as a fool for feeling betrayed. How could she have forgotten that the man was an opportunist to the core? Whatever affection he might have had for her would never outweigh the benefits of remaining loyal to the Noble and in his good graces. Kane wasn’t a man she should be trusting, and she cursed herself twice for making that mistake to such an arduous degree in the first place. </p><p>So far he hadn’t said anything about Spike and Ray…that she knew of. But she knew it was only a matter of time before that information became profitable. It meant that she could never go back to Cloud Nine as long as Kane was still around. And if it that fact hadn’t actually made the two safer from her chaos, then the southerner might well have killed the assistant for that. But as it stood she was almost grateful. It gave her a concrete reason to keep herself away from the shop, and somewhat assuaged the guilt she felt for disappearing on her friends once again.</p><p>After some digging around Carlos and his men sent out a message that the ring’s secret circle was secure. It had been pure dumb luck that had lead Banner and his partner to the church that night, and not a mole in their midst. Learning that hadn’t made any of them feel any better, but it did go a long way to assuage the noble’s panic. That, and the destruction of any and all evidence that they might have gathered from the church, took the overall reaction down from ‘holy fucking shit!’ to ‘god damn it’ pretty quickly.</p><p>Slowly the time passed. After two weeks of bed rest the Noble had once again surprised her by keeping her from the rings for another two. Part of it might have had to do with the annual Noble caucus held in Uptown that had taken place during that time, but Amara wasn’t convinced. Political events and occupations had never kept her out of the ring before, and the way Yaruka’s guards tiptoed around her attested to a hidden agenda. Amara wasn’t sure what it was, but something stunk and it made her hackles rise.</p><p>On the second week she finally saw Kane again. He’d stopped by the penthouse to drop off some forms that needed the noble’s signature and had nearly pissed himself when he saw her at the kitchen island with Usui.</p><p>The kid was elbow deep in a basic martial arts guide book that Amara had been walking him through. Hill was a good man and an even better teacher, but was up to his eyeballs in work thanks to the Noble caucus. The fighter had taken it upon herself to tutor the pup through what she could while still off her feet, and so far it had been slow going.</p><p>The pair were cool to one another and Usui, judging from the awkward glances he shot between them, could tell. Kane didn’t mention the shop and Amara didn’t confront him about it. They simply nodded at each other and tried in vain to keep up their usual witty repartee. It fell flat by a long shot, and left a bitter taste in the fighter’s mouth when he left.</p><p>“So what’s the story there?” Usui asked, brow arched almost to his hairline.</p><p>“Nothing.” She responded curtly, gesturing back to the book and clearing her throat. “Go back to the diagram kid. So what would you do if there were two assailants with firearms in a contained environment? Say, in the lobby of Yaruka’s building.”</p><p>The pup thought for a moment and chewed on the end of the pencil he was using to take notes. “Try to disarm one of them and take their weapon? Maybe go left and put them in each other’s line of fire?”</p><p>“Good.” She said bluntly, “If you’re suicidal.” and stood with a small wince to retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “The first thing you do is call for help.”</p><p>Usui sent her a skeptical look and Amara tried not to snort into her water.</p><p>“Part of knowing how to beat someone is knowing when you yourself are beaten.” She continued, boosting herself up onto the counter and snagging an apple from the fruit basket next to the sink. “When you’re outgunned and outmanned the first thing you should look for is more guns and more men. Work smarter, not harder.”</p><p>“But shouldn’t I try to handle it on my own?” Usui countered, sitting back on his stool and leaning his elbows on the swirling granite of the island. “Shouldn’t I be capable enough to…I don’t know, take on the odds? Beat them without calling in for backup?”</p><p>Amara hummed for a moment and tossed the apple back and forth between her hands. “Only when you’re out of options do you try and take on the odds that are unbeatable alone.” She let her gaze fall heavy on the junior guard to make her next point stick. “Until then you ask for help.”</p><p>“And that’s what you do?” he asked, sarcasm seeping into his tone, and Amara had to resist the urge to chuck the apple at his forehead. Instead, she was quiet for a moment and arched a brow at the kid until a cowed expression replaced his attitude.</p><p>“I’m an indentured fighter whose one purpose in life is to give the bloodthirsty pullets of this city the show they need to keep them from doing much worse to one another.” She stated bluntly. “And you’re a kid doing a protective detail internship with a high level noble to get yourself into university. One of us is expendable.”</p><p>Usui reeled back at that and crossed his arms across his chest, an angry flush rising to his cheeks. “Hey! I know I’m just a low-level noble’s son but—!”</p><p>“I was talking about me, you idiot.” Amara cut in before the younger man could work himself up. The pup snapped his lips closed and looked at her like she’d just started speaking Bantu. Amara blew a breath out through her nose and retrieved a knife from the drawer below her to start cutting the apple into slices.</p><p>“What district is your mother the Noble of Usui?” she asked softly, and the boy arched a brow at the seemingly random question.</p><p>“The 28<sup>th</sup>” he responded after a pause. “It’s about sixty miles outside of what used to be Detroit.”</p><p>“Population?” she continued.</p><p>Usui swallowed and answered. “About 5,000 last time we talked.”</p><p>The pink was still on his face, but this time Amara was guessing it was from embarrassment rather than anger, based on the way the boy’s eyes fell down and to the side. She sighed. It wasn’t strange for higher-level nobles to look down on their more grassroots associates, but Amara didn’t think Usui would have picked up on it this quickly. Probably he had been spending too much time with Yaruka.</p><p>“Usui…One of us has a family.” She finally said, drawing the young man’s eyes back to her face. “One of us has 5,000 people waiting on us back west, and a mother that would be devastated if you died in some back alley trying to take on the world single-handed. Don’t put yourself in the same category as me kid. You’re more important than that.”</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter Eighteen: Picking at the scab</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kane felt like one of the characters in Sarah’s favorite late-night drama shows. The ones that were constantly in a cycle of joy and crushing sorrow. Like, for a while they will be happy. Inordinately so. Everything was going their way and the sky was coming up roses. That was until catastrophe struck. Someone’s husband died in a flood or a bomb goes off in their mailbox, and their world goes to hell in a handbasket. The saddest part is that everyone in the audience can see it coming from a mile away. The music gets intense and the camera zooms in on dramatic angles until the impending chaos is the most obvious thing on screen. Everyone can see it coming…accept, that is, for the character. No, that poor son of a bitch just gets blindsided out of nowhere and then has to pick up the pieces, much to the enjoyment of everyone in attendance.</p><p>Kane felt like one of those characters, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what plot device was coming out of the blank future to fuck him sideways. It was driving him crazy.</p><p>For weeks now his life had been running smoothly. He’d kicked metaphorical ass at the nobles’ caucus at Yaruka’s side and in return had been given a sizable pay raise. His sister was happy and healthy in her second year at university, and he was actually considering asking Sarah to meet his mother and aunt. His friends and family liked his girlfriend, the sex was amazing, and his job was taking off like an off-planet cruiser.</p><p>So why in the bleeding fuck did he feel like everything was about to come crashing down around his ears? </p><p>Deep down he knew it had something to do with Amara, as most of the difficulties in his life did. Ever since he and the guards had pulled her out of that Downtown tattoo parlor they’d been cordial to each other, but cold. Orbiting around each other like actors on a stage; like they knew each other’s lines before they even said them, and thus their responses were wooden and forced. And it shouldn’t have bothered him. For months now he’d been thinking that it was time to put some distance between himself and the fighter, and go back to the way things had been. Back before the warehouse bust and subsequent upheaval of their relationship. But now that it was here he felt the distance between them like a canker sore.</p><p>He knew that if he just left it alone the damn thing would heal and be little more than a memory, but despite himself he just kept running his tongue over the stinging abscess. And the worse it got the more he did it.</p><p>He’d tried in vain to draw her out into a fight on multiple occasions over the weeks after she’d gotten off bed rest, chucking watermelons down the line for her to take a swing at. But Amara had just smiled the shaded smile that she gave to all the other guards, save Usui, and let them pass un-accosted. It was like falling into an alternate universe where everything was opposite, and it made the assistant’s head spin.</p><p>And that was another thing that just rankled Kane’s feathers. For some obtuse and illogical reason, the fighter had decided to take the kid under her wing and spend as much time with him as possible. She was, to some extent, starting to show Usui the same kind of regard that she did people like Marcus and Martin; important people that had been there since the beginning, and Kane was convinced she was only doing it to piss him off.</p><p>Constantly he found the two bent over books and videos off Usui’s tablet, discussing strike leverage and attack angles whenever he deigned to go to the penthouse or garage on Yaruka’s business. Recently they’d even started talking about things outside the wheelhouse of self-defense, and were moving into almost friendly territory. He’d even caught Usui sneaking books on Japanese into the penthouse one evening. And the day after he’d walked in on Amara teaching the kid a few words in her tribal language at the garage, for Christ’s sake! </p><p>It rankled in a way that was exceedingly unpleasant to the assistant, and Kane had to ratchet himself down on more than one occasion when he’d been giving instructions to the junior guard. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that Amara was ignoring him.</p><p>Hell, ignoring wasn’t even the right word. It was more like polite indifference. Like an acquaintance, you saw at the grocery store once a week, at best, where the exchange of pleasantries was more a requirement than anything else. And if a week comes where you don’t see that person in aisle four? Well, it’s no skin off your nose. They’re probably busy…or dead. It doesn’t matter. Not like you would have gone to the funeral anyway.</p><p>Amara treated him with that same kind of civil triviality, and it made the assistant’s teeth clench every time she simply nodded and did as she was told. No snark back or attitude. It was maddening.</p><p>It was on their first appearance back at the rings that Kane finally figured out what it was. She didn’t trust him anymore.</p><p>Like the unfurling of a flower, as soon as Amara stepping into the newly renovated abattoir (which Carlos had found conveniently outside the city limits) the barriers she’d set up around herself since the tattoo parlor fell away. Almost the instant that Mathur and Smith handed her over to two of Carlos’ men, the light that he hadn’t realized was missing came back into her eyes and the set of her shoulders dropped into an easy comradery that Kane hadn’t seen in weeks.</p><p>These men, the same ones that had originally thrown her into the pits to begin with, were different. She <em>trusted</em> these men. Felt safe in their presence in a way that she no longer did with Yaruka’s guards. And with a sickening lurch, Kane realized that he was once again regarded in her mind as just another one of them.</p><p>Whatever fledgling friendship that had bloomed between them, that had set him apart from everyone else in Yaruka’s employ, had been cut off at the root. And for some stupidly inconvenient reason Kane mourned its loss.</p><p>As they settled into the VIP box, once again a shared set up at this new location, Kane realized that he needed to talk to her. If only to clear the air. If he didn’t he’d drive himself crazy…and lose whatever advantage he had gained with the fighter by getting close to her. This icy thing between them would get him nothing in the future, and the benefits of maintaining her trust was worth more than his pride. </p><p>He made his excuses to Yaruka and headed out of the box under the scrutinizing gaze of both Hill and Mathur. Amara wasn’t actually fighting tonight. In one of his rare shows of mercy, Carlos had kept the southerner’s name out of the fight rotation while she was still recovering from her run-in with the FED. Four weeks out might have been enough for Amara, but Kane had seen the way Carlos assessed her that first meeting back at the apartment complex. She was a hairs breathe slower than she usually was, and not even her stoicism could hide the wan lines around her mouth and eyes. Pain was something every dog could work through, Amara most of all, but even they had a limit. Kane was relativity sure that the padre had decided that taking a bullet for the rings warranted the southerner a week off.</p><p>Of course, Amara didn’t know that. She thought it was just the luck of the draw, as it always was when her name didn’t come up. If she had known, she probably would have raised holy hell at the weekly meeting and gotten herself put back in rotation just for spite.</p><p>Unlike most of the other ring locations, this one had an operational maintenance elevator that was being used to transport the fighters down to a small holding area off the side of the concrete arena. The slaughterhouse’s killing floor was wide and spacious, but the makeshift holding room and tunnels leading into it were not. They had, at one point in time, been designed to keep the livestock from trampling one another or having too much room to run before their deaths. They would have been held together there, with their friends for a time after their arrival. Left to calm themselves in a companionable huddle before, one by one, they were shepherded down the tunnel and out on to the concrete floor of the abattoir. There was a poetic parallel there that Kane tried not to examine too closely.</p><p>Regardless of their purpose, the small holding room on the main floor meant that the larger cells and medical area were actually located on the same floor as the VIP boxes.</p><p>When he finally arrived at the holding area Kane again had to marvel at the ring master’s ingenuity. What had probably once been a row of offices had been gutted to resemble an attic more than anything else. Raw beam and cobwebs made up the high ceiling and plywood paneling ripped from the lower floors separated the space into holding cells and thoroughfares. The distressed grey and white speckled carpet still held in it the divots of cubicle walls and desk legs; like some kind of printing press negative for a long-forgotten floor plan.</p><p>As he glanced around for the southerner, he noticed the sidelong squints and suspicious glares thrown his direction by the other fighters. Carlos’ men were more subtle about it, but Kane could tell even they were wondering why he was here. Pushing aside their looks, the assistant spotted a shock of brown from the back corner of his eye and followed its path through the small crowd of dogs and handlers.</p><p>Amara was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her when he found her at the end of a row of cages. She was reclined in an old office chair, legs slung over one of the arms like a child, and talking animatedly among a small cluster of other fighters. They were draped like panthers over a pile of office furniture; unperturbed and languid, but intimidating. Threatening because they were so calm. Like a sea before the tsunami, and Amara was at their center, natural as a summer’s breeze.</p><p>Their laughter was loud, but not boisterous. Not like the nobles, who seemed to dominate the space around them with their mirth. This was laxer, more like the soft vibrato of a choir in song. Something that didn’t push you back on your heels, but welcomed you in with its volume.  </p><p>As he approached he caught the tail end of a story.</p><p>“—so he drags this bike out of the water, and what’s curled up in the back spokes but a god damn baby water snake! And this poor thing is trying to get away, but Matt is screaming so loud that it takes the first place of refuge it can find, which just so happens to be up Matt’s pant leg!”</p><p>The dog talking had a young face. Round and cheery with a spattering of freckles under heavily slanted eyes. He was perched on a filing cabinet and below him another dog leaned back against his knees. She grinned up at him as he spoke, and Kane caught the copper flash of her hair as she rocked forward in laughter.</p><p>“Oh no, it did not!” she said through a chuckle, clutching at her chest and rubbing absently at the bright, multi-colored collar. Her voice was breathy and high, with a rural twang that lengthened the end of each syllable, turning her ‘not’ into ‘nauught’.</p><p>Bracketing the scene in on the right was a stocky black man that Kane had only ever seen from afar. He was a relatively fresh dog, but had been circling around the rings for a while. A kid just out of his teens, if the rumors were true. And from the looks of the young man stretched across the old marble-topped desk, they were. The dreadlocks he sported were long enough to give him the look of a ranging lion, but the image was offset by the rimless glasses perched on his nose. Distantly, Kane wandered what the fighter did with them when he entered the ring.</p><p>Hiram was there as well. Leaning over another filing cabinet, the man looked the quintessential bodyguard as he surveyed the group with a wry smirk from behind Amara’s shoulder. He was the first one to spot the assistant, and did nothing to disguise the venom in his glare when he recognized who was intruding on their little story circle.</p><p>“Heads up.” He said, with a bite, to alert the other fighters of his presence. Keen eyes from five different faces snapped to follow is movement, and Kane felt a sudden sympathy for every antelope that had ever stumbled into a lion’s den. Amara’s head whipped around so fast he was surprised he didn’t hear the vertebrae pop. The group’s laughter froze in the air like an icicle, and their smiles melted into scowls and suspicious, hard lines. Amara was no acceptation.</p><p>“The fuck are you doing here Kane?” she barked, brow arched and mouth tight, and the assistant had to resist the urge to flinch. He could tell she was going for nonchalant, but the strain in her voice and whip-crack of her curse made the assistant feel like he’d been slapped.</p><p>“Well, that’s one hell of a welcome.” He said instead with a dry smirk to mask the wince, and the southerner’s eyes narrowed.</p><p>“She asked you a question douche bag.” The new fighter growled before she could respond, and the rumble of his vowels rolled across the room like tires over a gravel road. It made Kane’s hackles rise.</p><p>“And I don’t recall asking you for fucking permission.” He bit back, and Amara stood to step between them.</p><p>“Lay off! Both of you!” she ordered, and rounded on the assistant, planting herself like a tree between him and the other fighters. Hands on her hips, the scarred woman regarded him like he would have regarded a stain on his trousers. Kane’s teeth clicked together as he wrestled violently with his temper, and tried to remind himself that he actually <em>did</em> like her enough to put up with this kind of bull shit. Closing his eyes, the assistant took a deep breath and chose to ignore the other fighters, do what he came here to do, and get back to the VIP box before he did something stupid...like trying to pick a fight with a dog who could probably pop his head off with their little finger.</p><p>Letting his eyes open once more, Kane let them fall to meet hers and sighed. “Look Amara, I really need to talk to you. About Spike’s shop I just—!”, and before he could get another word out Amara had fisted the front of his shirt and was dragging him back down the row of cages like he weighed a quarter of what he did.</p><p>Behind him, he heard the amused whispered of the other dogs and Hiram’s distinct snort of laughter. It almost made him turn around to let fly a scathing retort, but a glinting glare and a rough jerk from the southerner stopped him. Unless he wanted to rip the collar off his button-down, Kane was stuck fast. Amara growled low in her throat to support the warning. Feet fumbling over each other, the assistant stumbled after her and shook his head sardonically.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Well, this is just going great…Shit. </em> </strong>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter Nineteen: Things fall apart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shit is starting to get real y'all...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Amara was about a hair’s breadth away from kicking Kane right in the ass. As a matter of fact, if his tailbone didn’t wind up in his esophagus in the next five seconds she’d pat herself on the back. <strong><em>And she’d been having such a good night too…</em></strong></p><p>Marching back down the line of holding cells, Amara towd the man by his shirt with enough force to pull him off his feet. Near the end she spotted an open cell door and wasted no time in chucking the sputtering assistant in and slamming the gate behind them. Some quick footwork, unaided by the slick bottoms of his dress shoes, kept the blonde on his feet…barely, and Amara had to admit she was somewhat impressed. </p><p>“How’s it going Kane?” she asked, heat pooling in her tone like lava. “Long night? How’s the girlfriend doing? Good, good. Quick question, are you fucking brain damaged?”</p><p>Kane had the audacity to look affronted. Stepping forward, she crowded him into the back corner of the cell and felt a snarl build up in her chest.  “Like seriously, did you fall on your head?! What part of ‘don’t bring them into this’ did you not understand?!”</p><p>Her fist was back in his shirt, balled up in the expensive fabric below his collar bone and Amara felt the tendon in her knuckles pop. It was at moments like this she somewhat resented her stature, since staring up into his face felt like a concession she wasn’t in the mood to give. Kane’s nervous swallow did, however, do a little bit to assuage that feeling. If it wasn’t freezing in the abattoir the man probably would have been sweating.</p><p>“I, ah—Look, I’m not…shit—,” the man stuttered before he took a breath and the spark came back into his eye. “Jesus Christ will you back off?!” he snapped, pushing back from his momentary slip into intimidation.  “I didn’t think your little crew was a secret from your keepers back there!”</p><p>“God damn it Kane!” she hissed, and released him with a shove. “Everything in this business is a secret, and you damn well know that. I can’t control what you say to Yaruka, but I didn’t think I needed to tell you to learn how to keep your damn mouth shut around everybody else! Who and what people know can get them killed you moron!” </p><p>Amara was gratified when she saw the posh man blanche. At least he knew that he had fucked up, and Kane wasn’t one to make the same mistake twice, so when she spoke again she made a conscious effort to ratchet down the heat in her voice. “They’re not my keepers, and neither are <em>you</em> for fucks sake.”</p><p>Well…she tried.</p><p>Shaking her head, the fighter continued. “Now, what the hell do you want?”</p><p>Adjusting his rumpled shirt, the assistant gathered himself with a heavy sigh. “I’m trying to fucking apologize.” He said, and Amara crossed her arms across her chest.</p><p>“What in the hell could you have to apologize for? Besides being a momentary idiot that is.” she asked, a little annoyed and with genuine bafflement in her voice. As far a she was concerned the man’s actions over the past month had been par for the course. Sure, they weren’t as close as they’d been before that night at Cloud Nine, but she’d been the one to do that. And on purpose too.</p><p>Despite every opportunity Kane had thrown her way to fall back into their easy comradery, Amara had held back from that temptation with white knuckles. It left a strange twinge in her chest to do so, but the distance she put between them was for the best. She couldn’t afford to have a man as smart and ambitious as Kane too close to where weaknesses lied. And as it stood the man was currently smack dab in the middle of one of them. Come hell or high water she’d keep the nobles as far away from the dogs when they were vulnerable like this as she could. And that started by getting Kane the hell out of this attic.</p><p>“Well I obviously must have done something!” he argued. “Because you’ve been a regular piss ant since last month.”</p><p>Amara sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger, squeezing her eyes closed to stave off a headache…but she didn’t try to deny it. She’d known the assistant would pick up on her keeping him at an arm’s length, but she had assumed that he would hold off on confronting her about it for at least another week. Or that he would just accept it and move on. Luck, predictably, was not on her side as it appeared.</p><p>“Look,” she finally said, and tried to put as much authority into her voice as possible. “You want me to share and care? Fine. I get it. I really do, but do it on your own god damn time, not here. And I’m not gonna hold your hand Kane. We’ll figure it out, but for the love of—!” she cut herself off and took a breath. “Let’s just talk about this later.”</p><p>Kane crossed his arms across his chest and regarded her for a moment. “You’re just trying to get me to leave.” He accused, and Amara cursed under her breath. “No dice Amara. We’re having this out one way or another. Now, why are you pissed at me?”</p><p>Amara sighed and ran a hand through her hair in irritation. “You make me want to scream sometimes. You know that right?” she said, and Kane’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “Still waiting Amara.”</p><p>“Fine, fucking… It’s nothing.” Kane looked skeptical. “No, really Kane, it’s my issue. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She said honestly, tone imploring. And in reality, it was. The assistant hadn’t betrayed some kind moral baseline that was set between them. He hadn’t wronged her in some unforgivable way. He’d done his job, plain and simple. It wasn’t his fault that Amara had allowed herself to trust him; that she’d let him get close. That was on her, and Amara could damn well own up to it and stow the bull shit. </p><p>Kane arched a brow and cocked his head to the side. “So we’re good?” he asked, doubtful, and stepping forward out of the corner she’d pushed him into.</p><p>“Sure.” She replied neutrally and gave him a curt nod.</p><p>But the man wasn’t buying it.</p><p>“You don’t sound too sure about that.”</p><p>“We’re <em>fine</em>.” She growled behind clenched teeth, and Kane had the nerve to smirk.</p><p>“You sure about that?” </p><p>“<em>Hijo de punta, </em>yes!” she finally snapped, though it was softened somewhat by her reluctant smile. She was willing to do anything at this point to get the man out of her hair, but she was also willing to admit that the assistant had lifted a weight off her shoulders by clearing the air. Detesting someone that you actually liked, even if you didn’t realize that that was what you were doing, was exhausting, and Amara found that she was relieved that she didn’t have to do it anymore. “Whatever. Just get the hell out of here will you? Just because you—” but before she could finish she was cut off by the sound of boots stomping down the carpeted hall. The pair turned and Amara tensed as she realized they were headed straight towards the cell they were borrowing.</p><p>“Amara!” Hector shouted, peeling around the corner like all of hell was on his heels and yanking the gate open with enough force to rattle it against the wall. “Amara! You—!” he cut himself off abruptly when he saw the assistant and all but skidded to a halt. Cutting his eyes nervously between them, Hector continued after a pause. “You… you need to see this.” he stuttered, and the panic in his eyes made her hackles raise.</p><p>“What is it?” she asked, voice a growl. The other dog just shook his head and edged toward the door with an urgent grunt. Glancing briefly back at Kane, she followed him out into the hall. Rounding the line of cages on the opposite end of the holding room, she saw a gaggle of other fighters clustered around a cell at the very back of the line. Annoyance caught fire in her chest, and the southerner marched forward to deal with whatever drama awaited at the end of the hall and wearing on her already frayed temper. She was aware of Kane shadowing her from a few paces behind, but decided to deal with him later. He couldn’t do much damage on his own, and no one was going to talk to him while she dealt with whatever bull shit this was. “What the fuck is going—?!” she shouted…and then she saw him.</p><p>He sat on a stool, motionless and staring out at the opposite wall with glassy eyes. He was bare from the chest up, and not even the muted light of the decrepit office could disguise the plethora of scars sunk deep into the honey-toned skin, or the simple belt-like collar around his neck. His mouth was sewn shut. Actually sown together with a needle and thread.</p><p>“Get him the fuck out of here.” She said, quietly, to no one in particular, and she distantly heard Kane being unceremoniously hauled out of the holding room by a couple of fighters that she didn’t bother to identify. His protest, though surely vehement, fell on deaf ears.</p><p>“Drake!” she shouted, digging her fingers into the chain link that blocked his door. She rattled it violently, but the padlock holding it in place didn’t budge. “Drake! Talk to me man! Who the hell did this to you?!?”</p><p>The dog didn’t respond; didn’t even twitch in her direction.</p><p>“Drake?” she asked again, a pathetic and whiney shake slipping into her voice.</p><p>Nothing. </p><p>“Who the <em>fuck</em> did this to him!?!” she roared, rounding on the surrounding fighters who all shrank back a step. No one came forth to answer her. They all just stared in mute horror as the southerner panted in pure rage. She was a hair’s breadth away from knocking head together when the world’s most unlucky handler wandered in from the hall and right into Amara’s jaws.</p><p>“I’m going to have to ask you all to back away from this fighter’s cage! Go on before I—”</p><p>The man was face up against a wall before his last syllable was even complete.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Christopher Vaughn: Midlevel guard for Noble Plath. 5’11”. 190 lbs. 115 IQ. Favored a .38 caliber waist holstered Smith and Wesson. Always aimed to the left. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>The data was scanned across her mind before Amara could even register that her senses had been blown wide open without her consent. <strong><em>Huh. That was new. </em></strong></p><p>“Who the fuck did this to him?” she hissed into the guard's ear, and pressed down on the pressure point above his thumb viciously when he tried to wiggle away.</p><p>“Get the fuck off me you crazy bitch!” the maggot barked instead. It wasn’t an answer, so Amara dislocated the thumb.</p><p>“Who the fuck did this to him!?” she demanded again over the man’s shout of pain.</p><p>“Fuck you!”</p><p>Another snap, and there went his ulnar notch. “I’m losing my patience fuck wad.” She growled when his second scream faded to whimpers. “Who. The. Fuck. Did. This. To. Him!?!?!”</p><p>Distantly, Amara registered that Hiram and Hector were ushering the other dogs down the row of cages and out of her way. They scattered like cockroaches and Amara heard the door at the end of the holding room slam shut in their wake. None of this was more than an afterthought through the blood roared in her ears. Wrath so thick it numbed her face writhed under her skin. Her veins had never felt more cold. Her grip on the guard was so tight that she felt her arm muscles seize, felt them vibrate in their rigor. The man beneath her hands whined like a kicked dog and the beast thrashing in her cage howled in pleasure.</p><p>“He did!” the guard finally shouted after she put another twist on the broken wrist. “He did it to himself!”</p><p>The room went silent aside from the guard’s labored breathing. Amara grit her teeth and worked through the shock.</p><p>“Why?” she snarled, and pressed the man’s face harder into the wood paneling.</p><p>“I don’t fucking know! He got back from a week of some kind of hardcore training and he did it while we weren’t looking. Every time we tried to get them removed he just did it again! I swear to god he did it himself!!!”</p><p>Amara paused and glanced over to Drake, who was watching the scene dispassionately. For all the expression in his face, he could have been watching grass grow. “Where did he send him?” she demanded, returning back to the man she had pinned like a butterfly under glass.</p><p>“I don’t know! I’m just a guard for Christ’s sake!”</p><p>Amara released the man and spun him around before he could slump all the way to the floor. Griping him by the biceps, she put her face less than an inch away from the man’s quivering mouth. “Tell. Me. Everything.” She ordered…and after a shiver of pure terror, he did.</p><p>“L-Look,” the guard sputtered and licked his lips. “He came back from a fight that he hadn’t won an- and…Noble Kang decided he was done. He wanted out of the rings, so he gave up Drake. Carlos put him back on rotation and Plath snatched him up. He came in an- and…Plath wanted him to be tough. So he…he sent him off somewhere. I don’t know. He just came back and he was…. He didn’t speak, barely ate. He was on some kind of upper, but he didn’t….”</p><p>Christopher Vaughn stopped and Amara let a snarl rip loose from her throat.</p><p>“He—he, he, he did—didn’t…!” the man stammered. </p><p>“He didn’t what?!” she demanded, and Amara smelt urine permeate the air around them with a disgusted wrinkle of her nose.</p><p>“He didn’t choose!” the guard finally squealed.</p><p>“He didn’t choose to take them himself?”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>Cold dread sank into Amara’s gut. A sick twist that roiled like a living thing below her breast bone and made acid rise to the back of her throat.</p><p>She dropped Christopher’s arms like they were a poisonous reptile and stumbled back, knowing that if she left her hands on him she’d kill him.</p><p>This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. How in the <em>hell</em> had she let this happen?</p><p>She had stupidly, <em>blindly</em>, assumed Drake was dead. Or that he had quietly slipped into Noble Kang’s honor guard and had made the decision not to fight anymore. She’d been so absorbed with her own bull shit that she hadn’t even thought to consider that Drake could have been traded under her nose. Between the bust and the noble jockeying and Kane and just…. She’d been so up her own ass for <em>months</em>…and now…</p><p>She vaguely registered the guard scramble out of the room clutching his arm, but made no move to stop him. Instead she shuffled over to the gate of Drake’s cage and collapsed against it. Kneeling, Amara let her eye rake over the only other living original left in this world. Her eyes caught on the thick thread through his lips, and she had to close her eyes as she registered the rusted clot of old blood around them. The strength it must have taken to shove the needle through his face like that didn’t bear thinking about.</p><p>“Drake…Honey can you hear me?” she pleaded. The old endearment fell from her lips like it always had, but this time there was not gentle smile in reply. Only a blank stare that turned away from her to face the wall once more. Amara laced her hands through the chain-link again and pressed in with everything she had, reaching for him through the cage like she had a thousand times before.</p><p>“Please man just… just talk to me.” She tried again. “I know that it’s hard. But honey, if you can hear me…if there is any part of you left in there…”</p><p>It wasn’t likely. If she was right, and she prayed to <em>Katuwa</em> with everything she had that she wasn’t, then Drake was long gone. They’d taken whatever he had left after the war and the fighting and the rings, and had ripped it out at the root. Then they’d salted the earth. Cognitive recalibration, much like the technology in their collars, was forbidden for two reasons. Primarily, because it was cruel, horrible, and appalling. And secondly…because it worked so damn well. Whatever was left of the man she’d know since she was seventeen was probably unrecognizable. The soul she curled around when she had no more strength to give was dead. The boy that she’d loved like the breath in her lungs was…</p><p>“<em>Please</em>.” She begged. “<em>Please</em>, if you’re still in there…come back to us.”</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>“Drake, I’m so…I’m so sorry—”</p><p>And of all the things, that’s what got a reaction. Slowly, the only other remaining original’s head turned to face the southerner. His eyes rested upon her heavily. Emotion, undistinguishable and faint, sparked deep in their pupils and cut through the space between them like a bullet.</p><p>Hope, fleeting but invulnerable, sparked in her chest. “I’m sorry.” She tried again, and in a flash the other fighter was on his feet. His hands shook with rage and he towered over her like a righteous thunderstorm. Amara’s brows drew down in confusion and she pressed closer to the gate in desperation.</p><p>“Drake, I don’t kn—”</p><p>His fingers were through the chain link and wrapped around her collar before she even had time to register that he had moved. The strong digits trapping the last sound of her implore in her throat as he twisted the loose band around his fist like a noose. The leather bit true, digging into her flesh like a steel trap, and underneath it she felt her trachea fold. Amara gagged and her hands flew up to clutch his on instinct. She took his thumbs in her fingers, but stopped herself short from wrenching them back to break his hold. With gritted teeth, she grunted around the crushing force of his grip and forced the rest of her body to relax into the choke.</p><p>It went against every instinct she had and made the animal in her chest howl in denial and desperation. Somewhere deep in her mind though, she knew that fighting him off would get her nowhere; only trigger whatever kill-order they’d buried in his psyche like a roadside bomb.</p><p>Plus, if he killed her now, she wouldn’t have to deal with the crushing failure and black self-loathing that was threatening to fall on her like a guillotine at any moment. If he accomplished his main objective, which Plath had surely ensured was wiping her off the face of this planet, then maybe both of them could find some peace.</p><p>The murky spots that danced on her retinas were almost welcome. A macabre waltz that lulled her into the warm bath of unconsciousness, and deeper still into the ocean of completion. Of rest and cessation. Of sweet death, who’s kiss she’d felt too many times to count. It was like honeyed wine on her tongue. Rich and simple. Homey.</p><p>Slowly, everything faded into a grey quiet, and Amara felt her hands slide from around his in a caress. It was distant though. Un-concerning. She was in a place separated from her body, and nothing could touch her here, so why worry? It was so…calm.</p><p>But all too soon wretched air filled her lungs, and plunged her head back into the icy grip of reality. The world came back into focus, and to the southerner it felt like getting hit in the head with an ice pick. Drake had let her go.</p><p>Stumbling back to the opposite end of the cage like a frightened animal, the other fighter stared down at his hands like they didn’t belong to him. Coughing and sucking in air like a bellows, Amara watched as those hands rose to grip his hair like the talons of a vulture. Behind his sown up mouth, he moaned.</p><p>“Drake” she rasped, and he pressed himself against the wall more firmly, like he was afraid he’d lunge at her again if he didn’t hold himself back. He panted through his nose like a thoroughbred at the end of a derby and a pallid sweat broke out upon his skin.</p><p>“It’s ok.” She assured, voice as soft as it could be through the contusions she could already feel blossoming on her neck. “Honey, it’s ok.”</p><p>The man shook his head violently in denial and moaned deep in his throat again. He was gouging half-moon crescents into his temples with his nails, and any moment now he would draw blood.</p><p>“Drake please! Let me get those things out of your lips and we can—!”</p><p>He moaned again, more loudly this time, and slammed the side of his fist against the wall in rage. He looked up at her with eyes that boiled and hissed. The corners of his lips drew up, and if his mouth hadn’t been sealed shut Amara was sure he would have been snarling at her. She stared back at him and didn’t flinch. She didn’t deserve to turn away from this.</p><p>They sat like that for what felt like hours. Drake’s labored breathing like a metronome counting out the moments. Eventually, his face softened into something more familiar. The hate fell out of his eye like water from a bucket and what was left in its wake gutted Amara more effectively than any blade ever could have. The request was plain as day. Clear and resonant like a crime scene in the morning light, and in that same way, horrible and out-of-place. He bore the plead into her sternum like a hatchet. Buried it there like the planting of a flag. An undeniable claim. She couldn’t refuse it.</p><p>“Okay….” She breathed, wetness falling on her face in a way that was so long forgotten she didn’t have the mental fortitude to identify them for what they were. “Okay.”</p><p>Drake nodded, resolute as the morning sun, and closed his eyes. With a breath his shoulders dropped like a marionette cut from its strings and his head fell slowly back to rest against the wall.</p><p>Amara couldn’t stay to watch him like this. The private moments of a man giving up all he was. She just couldn’t. All her life she’d bore the weight of the things she’d witness like a concrete block in a hurricane, but this was her limit. Her line in the sand that she was not physically able to cross. She’d carve herself open for her weakness later, but right now she <em>had</em> to get out of this room.</p><p>She pulled herself from the ground and turned to leave, only to find Carlos barring her path. The padre leaned against the wood-paneled wall casually, peaceful as a Sunday afternoon. It made Amara’s teeth clench. That was, until she caught the expression on his face and digested it for what it was.</p><p>They stared at each other, silent. </p><p>“No one else fights him.” She finally rasped, monotone and even. “I don’t care what you have to do, who you have to move, no one else gets in the ring with him tonight.”</p><p>“…Si.” Was his flat reply after a beat.</p><p>Amara’s face felt numb. “You know what this means right?” she asked.</p><p>The padre just looked at her.</p><p>“Si, mujer.” He replied finally, and Amara pushed past him without a backward glance.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter Twenty: Sound and Fury</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something was seriously wrong. Like ass backwards, welcome to fucked up-vill, population ‘oh shit!’ level wrong. Kane could feel it in his gut. Whatever had happened to that fighter in the holding room was not at all fucking good, and he felt the anxiety well up in his bones. It leaked out in waves through his jittering legs and chewed fingernails (a habit he thought he broken himself of). The feeling only got worse when the headline fight arrived and it was Amara who stepped into the ring.</p><p>Yaruka turned a stone-faced look on him and Kane was out of his seat in a flash. “Let me go see what’s going on sir!” he said quickly, and rounded their seat to head for the VIP box exit.</p><p>He was stopped by a man at the door. “I’d retake my seat if I were you.” He said, hand on Kane’s chest to bar his way. The assistant smacked it away like a horsefly. “I really think I shouldn’t.” he responded, and the man looked wholly unimpressed.</p><p>“You cannot interrupt a fight while it is in progress señor.”</p><p>“I think the fuck I can!” Kane bit back, and felt a few eyes turn in their direction at his outburst. From across the room Hill tensed and started to head in their direction. “My boss’ fighter isn’t even supposed to be out there tonight!”</p><p>The skin around the man’s eyes and mouth tightened, and Kane caught a glint of gold as he grimaced. <strong><em>One of Carlos’ captains then, </em></strong>he thought.</p><p>“We are aware.”</p><p>“Then what the fuck is—!?” “Ladies and gentlemen!”</p><p>The padre himself interrupted the assistant, and everyone who had turned to watch his confrontation with the man spun back around in their seats.</p><p>“Tonight we have a very special match.” The man boomed, and from around him the sounds of pleasure surged. “For those of you that have been with up since the beginning, you will recognize both of these combatants well. As you have seen, making a surprise appearance tonight is none other than the wolf!”</p><p>The applause that swelled from the main level was contrasted starkly by the absolute silence inside the VIP box. Waves of pure rage were coming off Yaruka like a typhoon, and the confused pleasure of the other nobles at his expense wasn’t helping. Hill had finally made it to Kane’s side, thank god, but before the assistant could use him to barge through the man barring the door, Yaruka motioned them back over with a stiff and beckoning finger.</p><p>“Leave it.” He clipped flatly, and then settled back in his seat as if everything was according to plan.</p><p><strong><em>Of course,</em></strong> Kane thought. <strong><em>Yaruka’s would never admit that something was done without his expressed consent. He'd rather rip out his own eye with a pair of rusty sugar tongs. </em></strong>God help whoever had made the call to put Amara in the ring after the match was over though. As soon as prying eyes were away Kane could only imagine what kind of hell there was going to be to pay.</p><p>Slowly, the assistant retook his seat and tried to adopt the same unbothered air as the aristocrat with only moderate success. Below them a new song was swelling and the padre was continuing his introduction. </p><p>“Facing her tonight is a dog we have not seen in some time my friends!”, and something like pure dismay washed over the back of Kane’s throat when he saw who was stepping into the arena behind the ring mast. “Standing 6 feet tall and weighing in at 182 lbs, a former soldier of the New Alliance and combat specialist, please put your hands together for Dingo!”</p><p>………………………..</p><p>As Drake stepped into the ring, Amara knew that whatever vestiges of him that she had been able to pull out in the holding room were gone. Hidden deep behind whatever conditioning Plath had force-fed into his mind. The cold calculation in his eyes was flat and dead. Like a snake’s eyes. Like Yaruka’s. It made a shiver run down her spine and constricted her throat. Made her veins run cold in a way that was all too familiar to the southerner.</p><p>She’d made her peace with this. There were two outcomes here. Both of them ended bloody, fatal. Neither was something she wanted to think about and yet here she was. Despot of her own punishment for once, and sick to the bone at the prospect.</p><p>Sinking down into a loose guard, Amara let out a long breath through her nose and pushed it all away. The sadness and the grief. The rage. It all melted into cooling naught that ran down her spine, spilled over her thighs, and flowed out the bottoms of her feet. It sank into the dirty concrete floor below her boots to stain it like an oil spill. Starkly present like a congealing pool of blood but distant, separate. Something she could mourn over later.</p><p>Right now she had work to do. </p><p>Drake shifted to his right and Amara mirrored him. This man was a former spec ops marine. Not someone to dick around with even on his most amicable day. Every twitch would be calculated. No amount of movement wasted. He knew ways to kill her that even she was ignorant to, and the southerner had no doubt that he would utilize every single one of them if he could. She couldn’t allow him that opportunity. Not if she wanted to do the duty that was left to her.</p><p>He didn’t waste time in circling her for showmanship, but closed in on her like a heat-seeking missile. His long legs ate up the ground between them and he sent a powerful blow toward her body like the crack of a whip. Sharp and cruel, she barely had time to block it before his opposite fist came across her face painfully. The blow sent her reeling, and a fountain of blood spilled from her now broken nose. The copper tang of it filled her mouth, and almost made her gag before she pulled her head out of her ass and countered. Her elbow came up in a vicious swipe, but the quicksilver dog dodged like it was nothing. In the hair’s breathe before he recovered Amara planted her boot in his stomach and kicked away from him with all her strength. The move did more to propel her backward than it did to kick him away, but it had opened up some breathing room between them, and that was what mattered.</p><p>Amara jived backward and did a fast recalculation while Drake doubled over in pain.</p><p>He was faster, stronger. More malicious in his attacks and had lost some of the weight that had previously slowed him down by precious milliseconds. Probably from lack of a proper diet to maintain that kind of muscle mass, but she couldn’t count on fatigue setting in to win this fight before he killed her. He was too unpredictable now.</p><p>This was a fighter that she didn’t know, didn’t have any background data stored away on, and wasn’t prepared to fight when she came to the arena tonight. And on top of that, he knew her all too well. Whatever conditioning Drake had gone through obviously hadn’t erased the in-depth knowledge he’d gained about her fighting style over the years, and it put her at a severe disadvantage.</p><p>Amara spat a mouth full of blood on the floor and pressed her brief lead. She dashed to her right and closed on him from the side. The slit second that it took him to turn gave her an opening that she desperately needed, and she capitalized by stepping on the back of his knee and shooting an arm under his chin. She locked her hand in the opposite elbow and squeezed for all she was worth.</p><p>Wrapping her legs around his torso, the fighter knew her ill-conceived hopes of ending this with a standard chokehold were for nothing when she missed trapping Drake’s right arm under her leg. It left his elbow free to drive back into her ribs like a sledgehammer, and Amara felt one of them crack under the force. She held on for all she was worth though. Dug in like a tick, it would take six seconds to render him unconscious like this.</p><p>But in this fight, six seconds was an eternity.</p><p>At the count of four Drake lost patience with trying to beat her off his back with his free arm and went for a more direct approach. With all the considerable power built into his chemically enhanced quads, the taller fighter stood and then launched himself into the air. For all that she weighed more than the average woman; he did it with the same ease as a primary schooler leaping onto a jungle gym with a backpack on. She being the ill-fated backpack.</p><p>Mid-air, the southerner realized his plan and tried in vain to release the other dog before they hit the ground. No such luck. Amara hit the floor of the pit under a hundred and eighty pounds of hard muscle, head and back first. The blow was so jarring that she felt herself flirt with unconsciousness for a moment.</p><p>Sucking in air like a bellows, the southerner tried to get her spasming and reeling body to cooperate, but only managed to limply roll to the side when Drake’s weight left her.</p><p>Her vision was still swimming when the hard steel cap of his boot made contact with her underbelly, and the fighter gagged. She quickly scrunched down into a ball, protecting her head and abdomen with her curled in limbs, but it didn’t stop the blows landing on her back and shoulders from hurting like a son of a bitch. Each strike felt like the resounding strike of a hammer hitting an anvil, and Amara felt the fire spread over her muscles much like that definite ring. A well-aimed strike found her kidney, and it forced the fighter to let out a pained shout.</p><p><strong><em>Fuck this!</em></strong> The fighter thought with a vengeance, and flipped onto her back to catch his ankle on the next kick. Drake’s eyes widened slightly and Amara bared her teeth at him in a feral grimace. Rolling back again, the southerner dragged the larger dog down beneath her, and in an instant they were grappling. They were in her element now. No matter how much bigger or stronger the opponent was, an expert in Jui jit su could twist their strength against them and slither out of their holds before they knew what hit them, and Amara had been studying the martial art for over a decade. Drake had once, long ago, called her the human pretzel during training, and it stung to have to use this once admired skill against him, but she did it anyway.</p><p>Rising up into mount, Amara threw a heavy fist into the other dog's face and repaid him for the broken nose with one of his own. He scrambled at her neck with his nails, but she batted his hands away easily, and locked them under her left arm for good measure. Throwing another right, the southerner boxed his ear and pounded into in eye socket like a hammer.</p><p>Using a trick she’d taught him, Drake bucked his hips and locked a leg over hers to throw her out of mount and roll her beneath him. Amara was now on her back with Drake locked in between her legs and towering over her.</p><p>It looked like the furthest thing from a position of power, but to the southerner it was one of the best positions she could be in. Pulling him in, Amara locked her legs behind Drake’s lower back and grabbed his shirt collar to pull him down. Closeness was her friend here, and she needed to make the distance between them too small for him to do anything with before the former Marine decided to use those powerful arms to knock her around. She only half succeeded, and paid the price for it by getting a fist across the face. Her cheek light up into throbbing heat, but she pushed threw it to bundle the back of his shirt up behind his neck and pass it off to her right hand. She shot the other hand over this head to fist the shirt there as well. Crossing her forearms under his chin, she pulled.</p><p>It was an inelegant choke, born of back alleys and bar fights. A bastardized version of its more marketable brother the cross collar choke really, but it worked in a pinch and wasn’t something most servicemen were trained on how to counter. Drake proved to be no different. His throat fluttered between her forearms and muted grunts punched out from his sown up mouth. He tried to sit up and throw her off, but Amara was stuck in. A crowbar couldn’t have pried her off his neck, and not even the strikes he sent at her sides and head could shake her.</p><p>Then he got smart. The clever mind that she’d once admired so much worked against her just as she was convinced she had him. Moving quickly through the oxygen deprivation he must have been feeling, Drake threw his arms over his head and yanked at the shirt between her fingers, ripping it down the back. The tatters fell around them in cotton streamers as Amara fell backwards and Drake sucked in great and panicked breathes through his nose.</p><p>His eyes snapped down to her in a heated glare, hate and malice sparking in them, and then he wrapped his hands around the throat for the second time that night.</p><p>In a sick parallel of what had happened earlier in the holding room, Amara once again felt his fingers bite into her trachea and briefly contemplated the idea of letting him just end her here. It would be so easy. So simple; to rest for once.</p><p>But that wouldn’t do. She still had work to do.</p><p>Looking into his eyes, she sent an unspoken apology to him before she locked his right arm to her chest and shot her leg around his head. Rotating with her hips, she slammed him down into an armbar that made the air crack with the hyperextension of his elbow. With a vicious thrust of her hips and bow of her back Amara took it further and swallowed against the bile as she heard his shoulder pop out of place. The garbled screams he let out in the aftermath were even worse.</p><p>Shaking herself, Amara forced her body to keep going and finish the job. She raised her right leg straight up and brought her heel back down into his groin. Ignoring his guttural moan she sent the opposite foot into his face.</p><p>The man was truly down after that, and the southerner scrambled away from him as if she’d been burned.</p><p>The sound outside of the pit came back to her in a rush, and Amara suddenly realized that the crowd was absolutely howling in joy. Clawing at the guardrails like hungry curs; every patron was on their feet, and all of them were almost salivating in their rancorous abandon.</p><p>It made her want to scream. To howl. To rip into them with her teeth until their shrieks turned into something else. Something horrible. Something that reflected the black and red swirl of blood and death she felt bubbling beneath her skin, tainting her hands like a disease.</p><p><strong><em>Shut up,</em></strong> she thought desperately. Seethingly.</p><p>The VIP box in contrast, as always, was flat, black, and silent.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Shut up. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>The Padre was off to the side and still safely out of range, but was slowly starting to make his way into the ring, sensing the fight might be at an end. The man had the audacity to smile at her.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Shut up!  </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Drake, broken and panting, was gingerly rolling himself to his knees.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Shut up!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“Yield Drake!” Amara barked, the words tearing at her throat. Meeting his feverous eyes and imploring him with her own. “Yield and we can hold Plath accountable together. We can get you through this! Please!”</p><p>And for a moment he sagged. A look of pure longing flashed across his face and Amara allowed herself to hope.</p><p>But it only lasted for an instant.</p><p>Before the padre had even made it a quarter of the way across the concrete floor, Drake grabbed his distorted shoulder with his good hand and tugged. The wet ‘pop’ of bone sliding back into place made the other fighter flinch. She could tell it still hurt, even with whatever stimulant Plath had pumping through Drake’s veins, and she grit her teeth against the guilt.</p><p>She didn’t have time for it regardless. Drake was already pulling himself to his feet and it was clear that, despite his injuries, this fight was far from over. A wave of pure exhaustion washed over Amara’s shoulders before she too shook herself and dropped back down into a guard. Out of the corner of her eye the southerner saw the padre make a hasty retreat back out of the ring, and the barricade slam closed behind him.</p><p>Drake gave her the courtesy of meeting her eyes for a brief moment before he came at her again. They were both bloody, panting, and twitching. He had virtually lost all use of his right arm, regardless of whether the bone was in place or not, and Amara felt her right eye rapidly swelling shut. Soon she’d lose precious visibility in it and they’d be back on even footing. Meeting his gaze, Amara gave the man a small nod of understanding.</p><p>No yields.</p><p>No holds barred.</p><p>This ended when a heart stopped.</p><p>It was that simple. </p><p>…………………………………………..</p><p>The two combatants close on one another again, flesh and bone meeting in cracking slaps and punishing thuds. It was the same symphony of violence that had been played out over and over again since the dawn of life and struggle. A primordial anthem that had called out to warriors like them over generations. Across oceans and eons, this had always stayed the same. People far better than they had tried to silence it an uncountable number of times. Tried to beat it out of the enslaved, drown it out with the melody of progress and reason, and even tried to pave over it with the polish of time and pretty words…but it always found a way to keep singing.</p><p>And just like a song that could never be forgotten, here it was again. Amara and Drake composed the cords of it out against each other’s skin over breathless and countless minutes. The crowd watched on in awe. And somewhere in the ether, the ghosts of combatants past howled in the space around them, adding their voices to the strain.</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter Twenty One: Waiting for the end to come...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The end??? Fun fact: I have an epilog, but I'm unsure of if I want to post it or not. Thoughts?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kane hadn’t seen a fight this violent drag on for this long in years. No one at the pits had. The closest time he could think of was between two behemoths of dogs out of the early noble ownerships that had basically beaten each other like gorillas for almost two hours. And this fight was far from that kind of brutal inelegance. No, this was like art. Like ballet on watercolored canvas, only bloodier. This was two people who knew how to fight more effectively than anyone else he’d ever seen, and were going after each other like the end of the world was upon them. It was terrifying.</p><p>Around him even the most rancorous of nobles was mute. Yaruka and Plath, both epicenters of tension, were the only ones who even seemed to breathe. At the back of the booth Carlos’ men stood sentinel-like great gargoyles made of stone, blocking the exits in a way that was both innocuous at a glance and instinctually threatening.</p><p>Kane drifted over to the side of the booth and leaned back against the bar next to Hill. “I really don’t fucking like this.” he said, and the older man nodded in mute agreement.</p><p>“I don’t know what Carlos is playing at, but whatever it is had better be goddamn good.” Hill muttered not taking his eyes off the fight. “If she dies in there Yaruka won’t stop until the padre is a fuckin’ greasy smear on the pavement.”</p><p>Kane had to agree. “I think something is wrong with that fighter.” He said, crossing his arms across his chest and feeling his jaw clench in worry. “Like Plath did something to him, or something. Amara was…tense when she saw him in the holding room.”</p><p>“Kicked your scrawny ass out you mean.” He huffed with a wry smile and ran a hand over his mustache. “You think she set this up?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Kane answered, chewing on his bottom lip. “Seems plausible though. At this rate I don’t think there’s another dog down there that could have lasted this long.”</p><p>“Taking the bullet.” Hill confirmed, and Kane swallowed around a dry throat. The ‘again’ went unspoken between them.</p><p>Down in the ring the two dogs were steadily slowing. Punishment at that level couldn’t be sustained by mere humans for forever, regardless of how good they were. Amara’s face was a blotted mess on one side and the other dog’s right arm hung useless at his side. They panted at each other like wild foxes at the end of a hunt; cornered and desperate but teeth still snapping.</p><p>They closed on each other again, grappling and striking like machines. Amara swung the larger dog to the ground for the fifth time and launched herself at him with single-minded purpose. He kicked her off him with a heel to her sternum and the chase began anew. Round and round they spun like tops on a spinning wheel. Exhausted fervor kept them after one another while the world around them stared on in awe. And with every punch and kick Kane felt his jaw clench down just a little bit more, and his nails bite into the palms of his hands.</p><p>A break finally came when Amara ducked low under a kick aimed at her head and was able to get a hand wrapped around her opponent’s ankle. She toppled him over and twisted his knee under as she rolled toward him at an odd angle, and the dislocation made Kane’s shin and patella ache in sympathy. The fighter sent his good leg into her abdomen in retribution and scrambled to his feet, limping badly.</p><p>Amara didn’t waste any time though. Planting a foot on his hip, the southerner swung a leg up on to his shoulders and wrapped her calves around the other dog’s torso before locking his head between her thighs and twisting. The rotation flung the man down onto the already damaged leg and snapped it like a dry twig. The ghostly pale jut of bone stuck out from a ragged, bleeding hole in his lower leg, and Kane distantly heard a feminine voice from behind him gasp.</p><p>Rising, Amara lunged behind the fallen man—who had somehow pulled himself to his knees—and shot an arm across his collar bones to pull him back against her stomach. He looked up at her with a hand raised in retaliation…and everything stopped. Slowed like time itself had fallen into molasses and was scrambling in vain to catch back up with itself.</p><p>Amara paused in her movement and met her opponent’s eyes in that stillness. It was almost hard to breathe in the weight of that connection as their gazes locked, and Kane felt his heart lurch in his chest.</p><p>Her hands caressed his face like a lover, cradling the cut edge of his jaw like it was something fragile. Fingers framing his cheekbones and feathering over his eyes and lips. It was a reverence usually reserved for holy objects and firstborn children…and she showed it in the depths of what must have been hell for her.</p><p>Her right palm slid down until it cupped the bottom of his chin in a firm but loving hold. The other snuck up into his hair, rucking up the spiky strands and massaging the scalp at his temples. They hung like that, suspended in each other’s gaze for a moment. Merely a hairs breadth in reality, but to Kane it seemed to stretch on for minutes. Something indescribable and consecrated passed between them, flashing between their eyes like holy wright. An understanding that froze the breath in the lungs of every human watching and made the very air tremble in its wake. Raw pain like nothing he’s ever seen before swam across Amara’s face in a blink, and then it hardened. Solidified into a flat mask of steel and ice like the flipping of a page, and her hands locked in their hold.</p><p>The twist and snap of his neck was quick, and clean. Calculated to the utmost of efficiency and done without any hesitation that could have bungled the act. It was an assassin’s deed, cut and dry.</p><p>It was far from the most violent death that the assistant had seen in the pit, but for some reason, it turned Kane’s stomach. Roiled it in a way that made him choke down bile like he hadn’t had to do in some time. And like opening a shuttle door during flight, it brought with it a rush of noise that suddenly made Kane aware of just how utterly still and silent it had been a moment before.</p><p>Amara released her hold as soon as it was done and dropped the man to the floor, only to collapse down beside him on her knees.</p><p>Around her, an applause built like a thunderstorm, but it was nothing compared to the riot that had taken over the VIP box. Plath was a fuming mass surrounded by yowling laughter. Yaruka, in contrast, was standing proud and noble amongst the fray. What surprised the assistant, and made an odd shiver run down his spine, was that the usually reticent and soundless man was clapping. The slow ovation was measured and stiff, but the slight smirk behind it said all it needed to. He was more pleased than Kane had ever seen him, and it made the assistant swallow.</p><p>Below them Amara bowed her head to rest her forehead against the fallen dog’s, and Kane saw Christina rub her eyes out of the corner of his vision. It was only then that he realized that outside of the box? The floor level crowd had gone dead silent.</p><p>………………………..</p><p>Amara stumbled to her feet and panted down at the crumpled corpse of a man she’d once called friend. The body of a man she’d once taken as a lover. The soul had gone out of his blue eyes; the ones that had a little bit of green in them around the pupil. There was nothing there anymore, and the sight made her want to vomit. She’d taken that life. Ripped it from the earth like a weed from a garden, and she knew that it would haunt her until the day she died. More so than all the others. He’d be joining the ranks of Kathy and David in her nightmares, and she’d never be free of the vision that lay before her on the gore tainted concrete.</p><p>Helplessly she closed her eyes tight, and fought back her rising gorge. There wasn’t time for this now. There wasn’t time for her to weep, or beat her fist bloody or scream her grief into the sky like she wanted to. No time to let the monster snarling in her chest loose; to let it tear and feast and reap carnage on more than sorrow and hatred. No time to let it slaughter everything around her.</p><p>No, right now she had a job to do.</p><p>Drake wouldn’t have called foul for himself, even before whatever they’d done to him, and now that he was gone she had to do it for him.</p><p>Taking one last glance at her fallen comrade, Amara raised herself to her full height and locked eyes with the padre. The usually steadfast man was pale under his tan, and he swallowed at whatever he saw swimming in her eyes.</p><p>“Release my comrades’ padre.” She stately flatly. The words held a wet slap to them that told the fighter that she still had blood coming out of her mouth. “Now. <em>Hay una rata para matar</em>.”</p><p>A mute nod was her only reply. </p><p>……………………………………..</p><p>Beside Kane, Noble Yaruka grinned like a shark. The celebration around him held a hysterical edge that made Kane’s teeth click together. A ripe kind of insanity that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something wasn’t right here. On multiple fucking levels, that was for damn sure, but something in particular about the way Carlos’ men were standing was setting off alarm bells in Kane’s psyche. The assistant made eye contact with Hill and he could tell he felt the same way.</p><p>It was slowly starting to dawn on the rest of the room at large as well. Their congratulatory laughter and handshakes were petering off into nervous hiccups and awkward fidgeting, and Kane felt a cold chill run down his spine.</p><p>Amara still hadn’t stepped out of the ring. She stood resolute, staring down the padre like an oncoming train while the crowd quieted around them. Finally the man nodded and looked to the side of the pit to issue an order. To everyone’s surprise the barricade gates on the side of the pit slid open, gaping black like hungry jaws, and dogs started to pour in from the holding room.</p><p><strong><em>Was this some kind of double feature?</em></strong> Kane had a brief moment of panic, and glanced back to Amara where she stood swaying in the center of the gathering pack. If it was Amara was dead. No question about it. It didn’t matter how badass she was, no fighter could win another round after a fight like that. Before he could raise objection though, he realized that the dogs materializing from the shadows weren’t there to fight. They were instead gathering around the fallen man on the ground, and bowing their heads in deference to the southerner like a throng of pious monks.</p><p>“Noble Plath!”</p><p>The shout was so loud and sudden that the entire VIP box jerked in surprise.</p><p>“Noble Plath!” Amara shouted again, and turned suddenly to address the box.</p><p>Looking straight up like that the fighter looked like an avenging demon rising from a concrete and blood-stained hell. To his right, Kane saw the man in question sit up straighter in his seat. </p><p>“You have violated the sacred bond between Owner and dog! You have reneged upon the formal agreement you signed to! You have dishonored the anonymity of your fighter and violated his consent!”</p><p>The words hit the box like a cannon shot, and for the first time ever, Kane saw Yaruka’s face pale. The diamond on his finger shivered in the light as his hands shook.</p><p>Around them, murmurs of unease floated through the box. Security guards were drifting toward their respective charges, and Kane saw one of Plath’s pull a small handgun from his waistband. The man chambered a round and put a hand on the noble’s shoulder.</p><p>“I think it’s time to go sir.” He said lowly, and cast a rapid eye around the room.</p><p>Hill approached and looked like he was about to say the same thing, but was interrupted by Amara, who apparently wasn’t done.</p><p>“For this,” she barked, voice sharp as a razor blade. “Our bond is null!”</p><p>And just like that, without a single signal or command, her collar fell to the floor….followed by every other fighter's in the ring.</p>
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